


Of Toques and HGTV

by LivinOnARarePair



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M, Pittsburgh Penguins, Toques
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 11:48:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1777915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivinOnARarePair/pseuds/LivinOnARarePair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started with Kris stealing Marc's toques.</p>
<p>It escalated slowly.</p>
<p>(In which Kris steals Marc's toques, and the pair spends a questionable amount of time watching HGTV.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Toques and HGTV

**Author's Note:**

> Written when my friend and I were watching too much HGTV and discussing the tendencies of these boys to wear toques: Kris is always in toques, and it seems like Marc never is. So I started writing this, and then we started finding pictures of Marc in toques everywhere. Go figure.  
> This story was supposed to be short and sweet, but then the plot bunnies showed up. This isn't my best work, but it's my friend's OTP, and she's been bugging me to post this, so here goes nothin'. Also the first thing I'm posting on here, so . . . I've edited it a bunch of times, but there may still be mistakes; I apologize for that.  
> Follows no specific season.

They’re in L.A., having just played the Ducks, playing the Kings tomorrow, and the team actually has a few spare hours off. Against Sidney’s chastising, a few of the guys are in town, just bumming really because L.A.’s kind of an interesting place. So Marc-Andre, Tanger, and some of the other guys are out wandering around when Kuni points across the street to a small, colorful shop whose oversized sign reads ‘Tops and Bottoms.’

“The fuck is that?” he asks.

“Worth a look in, eh?” Nealer says, and the group makes its way across the road.

Kris holds the door open for everyone, and Marc, the last one in, smirks at him. The inside of the shop is even more colorful than the outside. Shelves stretch to the ceilings along the walls, and the racks are packed almost too tightly in the tiny shop. Marc looks around the displays of brightly colored socks and hats. “The fuck . . . ?”

Kris comes up behind him and snorts. “Neat.”

He meanders over to a rack of toques and Marc just watches him pick through the bright colors meticulously, fascinated at his concentration. Lost in his more than casual observing, Marc is taken by surprise when Kris tosses a light blue toque at him. “Try that on.”

Marc grimaces (he’s never really been a fan of toques, or so he tells himself), but stretches it onto his head to please Kris. The defenseman studies him for a second before shaking his head. “Non. Tryyyy,” he selects a black toque and reaches up to put it on Marc himself. “This one. This one is perfect.” He grins cheekily, obviously teasing Marc, but the tendy’s breath catches in his throat anyway, which happens a lot more often than he’d care to admit when he’s around Kris. “Maybe I’ll get it.”

And he does. Along with a dark grey toque and another dark blue one, both that Kris picks out for him. He watches Kris try on about a dozen toques and then not buy any, shrugging and saying toques really aren’t his thing. Which is a complete lie, and they both know it. On the rare occasions Kris isn’t wearing his bucket, he’s got a toque over that soft, impossibly straight flow of his. Marc is pretty sure that if Kris could fit a toque under his bucket, he would never take off his favourite faded grey one. Marc remembers buying one just like it a few years back, but it had disappeared a few days later. He tried very carefully not to notice the ‘M’ he’d scrawled on the tag when Kris took it off before practice. So Kris had taken a liking to Marc’s toque. They’re buddies after all. Let him keep it if he wants. Marc’s pretty sure he still has one of Kris’s old sweatshirts. He’s also pretty sure he doesn’t sleep in it during the summer when he’s in Canada, what now feels like his second home.

In the present, he follows Kris out of the shop, and they set off down the sidewalk. They skate that night and play the next day, winning three to one. And they leave early the next morning so Marc is packing his bag because it’s easier to do it now and sleep in a little than try to wake up at the crack of dawn and try to cram all his shit in his bag then. He’s pretty sure he’s got almost everything, but he’s tearing every drawer out of the room looking for the one thing he’s missing.

“Where the fuck are my toques?” he mutters to himself.

He turns the room on its head again before giving up, because, though it usually takes a few more days, his toques always go missing. The next morning, Marc slides into his usual seat on the plane, head lolling to the side to gaze out the window through bleary eyes.

“Morning, Marc.”

Marc’s head snaps up to look at the man standing in the aisle waiting for Kuni to put his bag in the overhead compartment. Marc doesn’t understand how Kris always manages to look so fresh and be so chipper in the morning. The thousand watt smile only makes his heart skip one beat today, though, because his eyes catch on the top of Kris’s head. “Is that . . . the toque I bought the other day?”

Kris reaches up to stroke a hand over the dark grey softly. “What? No,” he grins. “This is my toque.”

“The tag’s sticking out of the side,” Marc points.

Kris frowns and pulls the hat off, tucking the tag back in and resettling it on his head, but not before Marc sees the ‘M’ he’d Sharpied there. It’s early. That’s his excuse for why he asks, “What’s the ‘M’ stand for?”

“Huh?” Kris looks confused.

“On the tag,” Marc clarifies.

Maybe Kris blushes, but then he’s grinning and Marc can’t tell. “Stands for ‘mine’.”

Marc had meant it to stand for, well, ‘Marc’, but Kris can call him whatever he likes, so he just nods, and Kris offers an awkward little wave before scampering away to his own seat. Marc shrugs it off. Kris’s favorite toque is dark grey. He practically lives in toques. If Kris wants to keep the toque, he can have it. They’re buddies after all.

A couple days later, Kris invites him out for coffee, so Marc meets him at the coffee shop, and Kris is wearing a dark blue toque that looks familiar.

“Is that from the shop in L.A.?” Marc asks, pointing to the hat.

Kris definitely blushes this time, but only for a second. Then he’s shrugging and smiling, “Yeah, Duper bought it, but it was too small for his caveman head.”

Duper hadn’t even gone out with them that day. Marc grins anyway because it’s really no big deal. They walk back to Kris’s apartment for video games, and soon Marc forgets all about the toque sitting snugly on Kris’s perfect hair. Instead, he’s focusing on keeping his breathing calm because with the way they are sitting, both cross-legged and closer than they need to be considering the length of the couch, their knees are touching, and Marc may be imagining it, but Kris seems to keep pressing into the touch, leaning into the game as if that will make his character turn faster. Marc chances a glance at him once when he does it, but Kris is focused on the screen, grinning as he whips Marc’s ass for a fourth time. He exclaims victory and leans over to shove Marc’s shoulder playfully, tipping Marc onto his side, making Kris laugh even harder. Marc is prepared to lose every video game he ever plays again and let Kris push him in the fucking floor if that’s what it takes to make Kris laugh like this, carefree and friendly and just so happy. Then Kris is offering a hand, and Marc takes it and definitely doesn’t shiver at the resulting spark shooting up and down his spine as Kris pulls him back up. For a second, he’s crushed against Kris’s side, but Kris just pushes his shoulder and keeps laughing easily, and Marc only freezes for a second before sitting up and grinning, pushing playfully back on Kris’s shoulder. Kris’s laughter finally dies out, but he’s still grinning goofily at Marc. “’nother round?” Marc agrees, anything to hear Kris’s laugh again.

The next day, Kris shows up to practice wearing the black toque, and okay, this is ridiculous. Usually he waits long enough that Marc can kind of pretend he’s lost his toques, and Kris has bought his own, but this is just blatantly obvious. He grins and tips his chin at the hat. “Now, I know that one’s mine.”

Kris sticks out his bottom lip in the hottest pout ever, but he smiles and shrugs. “It looks better on me.”

Marc had had it on for about thirty seconds in the store, but . . . “It really does.”

Kris does frown then, and Marc’s stomach drops. He should’ve come up with some clever chirp or something. Kris just stares at him a moment before turning back to his locker and pulling the toque off, stuffing it in his bag. They practice, and the only thing that’s off is that Kris isn’t talking to Marc. They run their plays and do their exercises and everything as perfect as always, but Kris doesn’t even send a passing word Marc’s way. But he’s not really talking to anyone so maybe he’s just tired or . . . something. Coach runs them into the wall for whatever reason, so by the end of practice, none of them are talking. It’s not strange. Marc’s trained himself not to think too much about Kris, and that includes this, but he can’t help but notice the lack of French cursing when Marc rattails his hip after practice, precariously close to his dick. Kris just frowns and turns away. So Marc rattails his ass. Kris doesn’t even look at him, just moves away. Marc frowns and stands still, realizing that he has to acknowledge the fact that something’s wrong. He turns around and rattails Sid’s enormous ass to make himself feel better, but the particularly mockable exclamation that Sid lets doesn’t make him feel better at all.

That night, he’s on his couch, watching something stupid on HGTV because the remote is over there and how the hell did it get over there? He takes another swallow of beer to see if it makes the show any more interesting. It doesn’t, but he keeps waiting for the hot, petite milf to take her top off, maybe press her tits into the window pane, and holy shit, he’s drunk. He texts Kris, asking him to bring a glass of water before remembering that Kris is on the other side of town, not in the damn kitchen. He texts a never mind, hoping Kris understands his spelling of ‘drunk’, having somehow missed all the letters. He slumps on the couch while the milf complains to the realtor about the yard not being big enough for her kid and dog to run around.

“Shut the fuck up!” he slurs at the tv. “That house is fucking beautiful. Just take it!”

He slumps on the couch and watches as the ditzy milf picks a house half the size of the other, with absolutely no yard at all. He swears at her and then at the door when he hears a key slip into the lock. Then the door swings open, and he can’t even muster the energy to turn around and look at Kris. He knows that’s who it is. Kris is the only one with a key, in case he wanted to come over in the middle of the night sometime.

“Marc?” Kris calls.

Marc flings an arm up and lets it drop back on his stomach, listening to Kris’s quiet footsteps coming down the hall. Kris circles the couch to stand in front of Marc, holding a glass of water. Marc stares at him, because why? Just why?

“Did you bring that from your apartment?”

Kris nods.

“Why?”

“I didn’t know if your sink wasn’t working or if you were just too lazy to get off the couch, but I’m guessing the second one?” Kris smiles, and Marc kind of hates him for how easygoing he is. Who in their right mind drives a fucking glass of water across town this late at night just because a buddy drunk texted him because he was too lazy to get up?

Marc shrugs and offers Kris his bottle of beer. He doesn’t expect Kris to actually take it, but he does and takes a good swallow of it before handing it back. Marc stares as he takes the bottle back because Kris’s mouth had been where Marc’s mouth was, and if he drank the rest of it now, his mouth would be where Kris’s had been, and holy shit, he sounds like a teenage girl. Kris shrugs. “If you didn’t want my germs you shouldn’t have offered.”

Marc grins. “We’re teammates. I’ve had more of your germs in my life than I could ever want.” And he drinks and tries not to freak out. Then the bottle’s almost empty and he shakes it sadly. Kris rolls his eyes and pushes the glass of water into Marc’s hand before disappearing into the kitchen. He returns a minute later with his own beer and a bottle of water that he sets on the coffee table.

“What are we watching?” he asks and nudges Marc’s shoulder with his own, sprawled out like he lives there, same as always. But still. His shoulder is a warm pressure against Marc’s, and Marc has to cough to cover up the hitch in his breath.

“House Hunters,” he says.

“Weak,” Kris chirps half-heartedly, but he settles in to watch the next episode with Marc. They bitch at the family together and admire the houses. Kris really seems to like the third one with the window seats and the loft.

“I wish I had a house of my own,” he shakes his head. “A nice house. But I don’t know where, y’know?” Marc nods, knowing all to well, and Kris goes on. “Like, I’m here for most of the year, but we’re always leaving, and then there’s summers and Canada and home and family and everything. It really doesn’t make much sense to get anything other than an apartment out here, y’know? But if it made sense . . . I’d get a house on the water.”

Marc stares at him a moment, then he’s speaking before he has the chance to think. “We’ll get a house on the water.”

Kris stares back at him, and Marc needs to shut up, but he just can’t stop talking. “Yeah, we’ll get a house on the water with window seats and a . . . a fucking loft if you want.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!” Marc nods like it’s the only thing that makes sense.

“Me and you?” Kris whispers with a disbelieving smile.

Marc leans down to press his forehead to Kris’s so they’re sharing breath. “Just us.”

Kris’s eyes are glittering in the half light coming from the kitchen, and it’s all Marc can do to keep from leaning down to kiss him.

Fuck.

He sits back up, severing contact entirely, his shoulder now cold without Kris’s pressed against it. He clears his throat and tries to pull his butt out of the fire. “Me and you and the guys like one big, happy team!” he throws his arms out to the sides, feigning far drunker than he really is. When he looks back down, Kris is frowning at the mouth of his beer bottle. Oops. Kris sits up and stares at the tv as if he’s actually interested in which house the couple with nine hundred kids picks. Marc finally shuts up. The mood of the room isn’t comfortable anymore, both of them sitting rigid and silent. Kris is obviously upset, but what did Marc say? They finish the episode, and then Kris is mumbling something about needing to get some sleep before the game tomorrow, and then he’s gone. Marc glances around his now empty apartment, hating how quiet and cold it seems. Then his eyes fall on the glass of water still sitting on the coffee table. He picks it up, takes a drink, and sets it back down. He stares at it a moment, then gets up to get ready for bed, annoyed with himself for wanting to see it there in the morning.

His alarm clock blares obnoxiously early, and Marc kind of hates himself for drinking so much last night. He drags himself to the bathroom for an almost too hot shower to begin the hangover recovery routine. He stays under the stream until his fingers start to go pruney and then steps out, and there’s no fucking towel in his bathroom. He hisses several French curses as he tiptoes naked through his apartment to the hall closet and pulls out a towel. By now, all the heat has left him and he’s all but shivering, so he just drapes the towel over his shoulders because just, fuck it. He meanders to the kitchen, catching a glance into the living room and seeing the glass of water still fucking sitting there, staring at him. It’s mocking him, but not for being naked. It’s mocking him for leaving it sitting there so he would see it this morning, would remember last night. He growls low in his throat and strides into the living room, taking up the glass and swallowing all the water down because that will show the little motherfucker. He stares at the empty glass and it stares right back. He makes a face at it, then shakes his head at himself, and sets the glass back down in the same spot. Then it’s back to the kitchen for breakfast. He scraps something together and then sets about to making a fruit smoothie because he has a fancy blender for some reason so he should probably use it even if the noise is killing his head. Only when he turns it off to check the consistency does he hear the all too familiar little throat clear in the doorway.

“Kris. Hey,” he says, not bothering to cover himself up, because seriously, what’s the point? “What are you doing here?”

“I came to check on you,” Kris says quietly, carefully not looking down. “You were pretty drunk last night.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Flower says, tilting the container to peer inside. It looks perfect.

“It’s okay,” Kris says, reaching up to nervously push his toque (the dark grey one again) back. He starts to crack up. “Could you put some fucking pants on?”

Flower grins and sets the container back on the base. “Be right back.”

As he edges past, Kris reaches out and swats him right on his bare ass, making Marc jump at the feeling, sting and suppressed arousal. He’s glad his back is turned so Kris doesn’t see his cock twitch. He makes a face over his shoulder that has Kris laughing again, and it’s good. They’re comfortable again, the awkwardness from last night is gone, and it’s good. But when Marc gets to his room, he stands in the dark for a second and exhales, almost disappointed. Because awkwardness meant something was happening. That there was something between them in question that was maybe more than friendship? And as much as Marc pushed it down, he really wanted that. But no dwelling. They are buddies. Nothing more. He pulls on a pair of sweats and makes his way back to the kitchen, trying to catch what song Kris is humming as he moves around Marc’s kitchen like he lives there, same as always. But still. Marc’s heart twinges at the sight, wishing he could enjoy it every morning. Kris eventually looks up and sees him watching, grins widely, and yeah, Marc’s heart skips a beat or two.

“Here,” he says, handing Marc a plate. Marc pokes at the omelet, and fuck, it looks perfect. How did he come up with that from the slop Marc had thrown together? Marc peers over at the stove to see that Kris is making another one, letting it cook while he pours Marc’s smoothie into two tall glasses.

“Hope you don’t mind me joining you for breakfast?” Kris asks brightly.

“Not at all,” Marc grins dopily and then moves to sit at the breakfast nook to enjoy the show while he can. Kris continues to hum and sway his hips slightly, as if he doesn’t realize he’s doing it, and fuck, he looks so sweet, Marc just wants to bite him. Kris finishes cooking and pulls a stool over to sit across from Marc, and they share a lovely breakfast. They take their smoothies to the living room and sit close on the couch. Marc flips the tv on. It’s still on HGTV, and Kris laughs at him so hard he nearly falls in the floor. They settle in for just one episode of House Hunters. Marc says the couple will take the first house, and Kris says the second, but the young men take the third house.

“I liked the second house,” Kris says quietly, tugging at his toque again. “Did you see that yard? A dog could go nuts in a yard that big. I want a big yard so I can get a dog.”

Marc smiles fondly. “What kind of dog would you get?”

“Husky. Malamute. One of those wolf-looking dogs,” Kris waves his hand around as if trying to catch the actual name of the breed.

Marc nods. “One of those would be perfect for you.”

Reluctantly, they get up and get ready to go to morning skate. They skate together when coach isn’t having them run plays, and it’s good. It’s really, really good. A good day; nothing can ruin it.

*********

They lose.

Bad.

The team played their hearts out, but Marc gave up a few stupid goals, and Kris never seemed to be where he needed to be. After being down four goals at the end of the second, the rest of the team just sort of gave up in the third.

Coach yells at them. Sid yells at them. The rest of the guys are nicer but still carry an accusatory air about them. Kris doesn’t even put his toque back on after the game, which is never a good thing. As they’re walking out the back door together, Marc lays a hand on Kris’s shoulder to get him to turn around. 

“No toque?” he asks, gesturing to Kris’s free, damp, and flyaway hair.

Kris shakes his head. “Not tonight.”

He doesn’t elaborate and Marc doesn’t press. Coach runs them into the ground at practice the next day, and then Sid drags them along to the gym for extra conditioning, and by the time that’s over, they both feel thoroughly beaten down. Kris follows Marc to his apartment, and Marc doesn’t say anything about it when they get inside because they’re buddies, and Kris is always welcome. Kris drops his bag by the door, across from Marc’s, nearly blocking the hallway and shuffles to the living room like a zombie. He falls down onto the couch and doesn’t move. Marc goes to the kitchen to get a Gatorade and downs it in one go. Then he follows Kris to the living room and collapses into an armchair, throwing one leg over an arm. He looks over, and Kris is . . . sleeping? Kris is sleeping on his couch. Okay. He stands again with much effort and goes to pull the blanket off his bed, carry it to the living room, and drape it over his sleeping teammate. Kris doesn’t stir. Marc very carefully does not watch Kris sleep, does not let himself think about how he wants to kiss the furrow out of his brow. Instead, he shuffles off to his bedroom and collapses on the bed. If Kris wakes up, he can help himself to whatever. Marc doesn’t really care right now because he’s just so exhausted. He curls up in the fetal position and is out, down for the count.

He wakes up two hours later, and his apartment is quiet. He gets up and goes to the living room to find Kris still sleeping on the couch. He goes to the kitchen and pokes around looking for something to fix them for lunch. He finds a whole lot of not much, but throws some stuff together and calls it food. The smell filling the apartment, sauce and melting cheese, wakes Kris who comes over to slouch at the breakfast nook, laying a cheek on the counter and watching Marc put the food together.

“What’s this?” he asks, stirring the mess on his plate when Marc slides it over to him.

“Uh . . . ,” Marc pokes at his own plate. “Stone soup.”

Kris smiles. “Sounds good.”

It’s actually not bad, and they sit quietly while they eat because they still feel like they’ve been beaten. When they’re done, Kris grins cheekily and asks, “HGTV?”

Marc shakes his head, but he’s grinning. “You’re a freak, man. Let’s go.”

So they pile up on the couch again. They sit through a few episodes each of Love It Or List It and Property Brothers and, then Kris is nodding off again. He leans heavily into Marc, and Marc reaches over to pull the blanket over him again. And then Kris is just done, and he passes out heavily, plastered against Marc’s side, head lolling onto Marc’s chest. And Marc has to focus to remember how to breathe as he stares at the tv, not paying a speck of attention. His arm, draped over the back of the couch is going to sleep, and the only thing he can do is lower it, but then his arm is around Kris, and that’s weird, right? But they’re buddies. And Kris is asleep; he won’t care. He can play it off if he needs to. It’s okay.

Except then Kris is curling up under his arm like a fucking puppy or something and he’s nuzzling into Marc’s chest and it’s just so cute, and Marc . . . Marc has a boner. Fuck. He tries to focus on the tv, but it’s just not holding his attention. He counts the goal holes in his head, lists the shooter tells in the shootout, anything he can think of and it’s working, but then Kris is slipping, and then he’s half in Marc’s lap and suddenly Marc is stroking his hair like he’s petting a puppy and in his sleep, Kris is nudging ever so slightly into the touch, and Marc’s in trouble. He thinks about his grandma cussing about his five-hole being as big as Canada until he could do a full split in full gear at the drop of a puck. He thinks about sitting next to Sid when they fly and having to put up with all of that for hours at a time. His mind is grasping for the extremes so he doesn’t jab Kris in the shoulder with his boner, and he’s trying not to freak out. Kris reaches up and lays a hand on his chest.

“Sit still,” he murmurs.

And what the fuck is Marc supposed to do? He doesn’t want to leave this moment, but the only way he can fix this is to slip into his goalie mentality. And then he’s in the crease. The blue paint beneath him is his battleground, the looming red net behind him, his fortress to defend. The snow packed by the posts. Fuck, breakaway. Poke check. Good job, Flower. There’s an elbow in his stomach. What? He shakes out of the scene. Kris is frowning up at him.

“Can you please not block shots while I’m trying to sleep on you?”

It’s not even the least bit sexy. But there’s something about him, the smoothness of his voice, the way his hair has fallen into his eyes, the warmth of his body still pressed into Marc’s lap, fitting perfectly. Marc’s dick twitches. He knows Kris felt it by that look that’s crossing his face. Fuck.

“It was a poke check,” he chokes out. And that’s probably the dumbest thing he’s ever said. He feels the heat of a blush flood his face, and Kris . . . Kris bursts out laughing. He pushes himself upright and then falls back against Marc’s shoulder where he’s laughing so hard. Kris finally settles down to giggles and reaches over to punch Marc’s shoulder.

“That didn’t happen,” he says.

“Thank you,” Marc ducks his head.

And it’s okay. They’re buddies, and sometimes dicks do weird things. Kris understands. Kris is going to brush it off and pretend it never happened. And it’s good. So why does Marc feel disappointed? They finish the episode of House Hunters, Kris leaning companionably, shoulder pressed against Marc’s, and that’s nice, but . . . Marc very carefully ignores the fact that he wants more. Then the show’s over, and Kris is standing and stretching, sweatshirt pulling up, showing a thin strip of smooth skin, and Marc just barely stops himself from reaching out and touching, stroking his fingertips over that little scar on Kris’s hip. His eyes snap up to Kris’s face just in time to catch his words.

“I really should be going.”

No! Marc wants to shout. Instead, he stares back, says so softly, “Stay if you want.”

“Don’t think I could play my best game if I spent the night on your couch, Marc,” Kris grins.

You could share my bed, Marc’s brain shouts. “I have a spare bedroom.”

“Could’ve said that earlier!” Kris says, reaching down to slap Marc’s shoulder. Then, “Nah, man, that’s okay. I don’t want to be in your way in the morning.”

They have another game tomorrow. Fuck.

Marc shrugs. “Coach won’t put me in. Not after yesterday. Rituals aren’t going to matter in the morning.”

He needs to shut up. Kris doesn’t want to stay, and Marc sounds desperate.

“Have faith, Flower,” Kris says softly. He leans down, and for a second, Marc’s world stops. Kris pushes Marc’s cap back slightly and drops a soft kiss onto his forehead. Then he meets Marc’s eyes, his own shining. “I believe in you.”

Then he’s standing again with a laugh. “Gonna have to stop watching HGTV, eh? Making both of us weird.” And then he’s walking out of the living room, but his body language is showing reluctance, like he wants to stay as much as Marc wants him to. But then the front door is closing softly behind him, and he’s gone. Marc wants to jump up and run after him, beg him to stay. Even if they just sit together on the couch and kill their masculinity one episode at a time. He lets his head roll to look at the spot where Kris was sitting. And there’s his toque. It must have come off sometime in the evening. It’s the old, dark grey one. Kris’s favorite. He could run after Kris to return it and . . . then what? It would be raining, and Kris would lift him up, and Marc would cup his cheeks and kiss him, and then . . . Then Marc could grow old and forget everything and Kris could tell him the story every day. Marc punches himself in the shoulder for that. He drags himself off the couch, orders out for dinner, and then mopes around his apartment until it’s dark. Then he drags himself through getting ready for bed, and crawls into bed with the toque tucked safely against his chest. When he wakes up, he’s still clutching it tightly with his nose buried in it, and it smells like Kris’s shampoo. He considers it for a moment, then stretches the hat over his head and reaches for his phone on the nightstand to text Kris and tell him he left the toque behind. But there’s already a message there. From Coach. Marc swallows and opens it.

You’re in tonight. Don’t fuck up.

What?! Marc’s grinning like a fool. He has to tell Kris. He dials one on his speed dial and listens to it ring five and a half times before Kris’s groggy voice comes through, scratchy and thick. “What?”

“I’m in goal tonight!” Marc tells him excitedly.

Kris sighs and Marc can practically hear him running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. He grins, thinking about how adorable Kris probably looks when he first wakes up.

“That’s great, Marc.”

“Did I wake you up?”

Then, in the background, a female voice filters through the phone. “Who is it?”

Marc’s heart drops.

“Nobody. Go back to sleep,” Kris tells the woman. “Hang on,” he says to Marc. Marc waits while Kris probably shuts himself in the bathroom. “Listen, Marc. I’m happy for you, but it’s six in the morning, and I was up kind of late, if you know what I mean.”

Marc’s voice doesn’t break when he says. “I understand. I’m sorry. See you at practice.”

“See you, man,” Kris says and hangs up.

Marc’s body is shaking, and he’s determined to not get upset. He’s not going to. He holds his breath and converts the aching in his chest into determination for the game ahead of him. He performs all of his rituals, staying in goalie mentality all day so he doesn’t think about Kris. And it’s working. He feels good at morning skate, stretching as far as he can, and he feels limber, like he could be in a split to catch a puck going ninety miles an hour at the harsh smack of blade on frozen rubber. He’s ready to kick his opponents’ asses by himself. And that night, he does. At the end of sixty minutes, he’s stopped all thirty-five shots that have been rocketed at him, and he’s on top of the world. Everyone is yelling nonsense when they tap helmets with him, and Kris just grins, and Marc’s mood goes sour, but he swerves around Kris, and he’s good again. Coach gives him the game puck with the stats already written on it, and he’s just happy. He goes out with the guys and gets pretty hammered because they don’t have another game for a few days, and he just got a fucking shutout. He’s chatting up some petite blonde at the bar that he could easily take home, when Kris appears from seemingly nowhere.

“Good game, Marc,” he beams, looking like a little kid.

Marc stares right through him. “Va-t-en.”

Kris deflates and slinks away. Marc turns back to the blonde and shakes his head. “Rookies.”

The girl laughs too loud. Dumb hoe doesn’t even know that Kris is as much a veteran as Marc is. Marc doesn’t listen while she babbles for a while longer, then abruptly sends her away. She looks annoyed but disappears. Marc has to take a leak so he gets up and starts to make his way to the bathroom. There, leaned up against the door to the men’s room is the blonde hoe with her tongue halfway down Kris’s throat. Marc chokes and runs. He makes his way outside and pukes in the bushes outside. Awesome. He’s classy enough to make his way to the back of the bar before pissing behind a dumpster, and then he starts to walk home blindly. Eventually he looks up, and he’s been going the wrong way, walking towards the other side of town. He stops in the middle of the sidewalk, shivers in the cold, and then crouches, holding his head in his hands. He stays that way for a long time, until a car stops in the road beside him, and an all too familiar voice calls, “Marc?”

He shudders and stands, turns to face Kris who is hanging out of the cab window.

“You okay, man? Need a ride?”

Marc feels the anger welling up inside him, and then he unleashes it. “Vas te faire encule!” he swears at Kris.

The d-man raises his hands in surrender. “Okay, man. Do your thing.”

Then he’s gone, and Marc’s left shivering in the cool night air of Pittsburgh. This is ridiculous, he thinks as he hails a cab. He just got a fucking shutout, and he’s going home alone, and Kris fucking Letang . . . He mopes on the ride back to his building, sulks in the elevator ride up to his floor, and then rages once he’s back in his apartment. Everything in his path gets at least overturned, if not broken, and then he gets to the living room where he’s confronted with that fucking glass Kris brought him so many days ago, that he’s been waiting to take back to him as an excuse to come over, and he’s done. He snatches it up and hurls it as hard as he can at the wall. It shatters, glass flying everywhere, but it still feels anticlimactic somehow. He just feels tired then, and he slumps down on his couch. He waits for his body to stop shaking with the rage and then trudges off to bed, stripping down and sleeping naked because he can. He wakes up at one the next afternoon, already cupping his dick, so in his sleep-addled state, he figures he might as well. He adjusts his grip and starts to stroke, hips thrusting slightly into it. His phone rings, and he ignores it, pulling a pillow over his head, but when it finally stops, it starts again about ten seconds later. He snatches it off the nightstand.

“What?!”

“You okay, Marc?”

Kris’s voice makes him shiver and grip a little tighter. “Fine.”

“Are you sure? Last night, you were kind of . . . ,” he trails off.

Marc doesn’t say anything, struggling to keep his breathing even.

Kris hesitates. “Should I come over? Are you hungover?”

“No.” Marc shudders. Oh, fuck, he’s close. He needs to get off the phone now, but he doesn’t exactly have the brainpower to say so, let alone make up an excuse.

“Marc, talk to me,” Kris barely whines.

And Marc is done. He’s turning his head and biting his pillow to keep from crying out as he comes. He exhales and tries to come back to the surface of awareness because Kris is still waiting.

“Marc?”

“I’m here, Kris,” he says on an exhale.

“Are you okay?” Kris sounds genuinely concerned. What a prick.

“I’m fine. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow,” and he hangs up. He flings his phone into the floor and turns over. He settles down into the bed, pulling his knees up to his chest and nudging his head under the bottom of his pillow to block out the sunlight filtering through the closed blinds.

He wakes again with a start a few hours later, because holy shit, he jerked off while he was on the phone with Kris. And something isn’t right. He can hear someone in his kitchen. He carefully slides out of bed, takes up his go-to weapon: his goalie stick, and tiptoes into the hall. He moves along the wall and then is brandishing his stick at Kris who is moving about his kitchen making coffee. Kris looks him up and down once. “Well, good morning.”

Marc lowers his stick so it at least covers his dick. Kris turns to pour the coffee into two mugs. “Go put some pants on, and I’ll make you lunch.”

“Kris, I don’t need you to take care of me,” Marc snaps defensively.

“It’s three in the afternoon, and you just got out of bed. You need something,” Kris shakes his head like he can’t believe he’s here.

“You’ve never slept in?”

“Never past noon.”

“I was up all fucking night,” Marc says sleazily, and he feels slimy just saying it.

“There’s no girl in your bed.”

“They must have left.”

Kris smirks. “They never leave.”

Marc shakes his head. “Did you go in my bedroom?”

Kris shrugs. “Just to check on you.”

Marc squawks indignantly, because he’s pretty sure that’s against the bro code.

Kris stares at him. “Dude. Pants. What is it with you wandering around your apartment naked all the time?”

“Because it’s my apartment, and I can do whatever the fuck I want in it!” Marc erupts.

Kris actually steps back at that. “Fine. Go naked if you want.”

Marc closes his eyes in exasperation. “That’s not the point. Get out of my apartment.”

“Marc, I . . .”

“I don’t care,” Marc interrupts and Kris looks like Marc has hit him. He slouches and stuffs his hands in his pockets, making himself as small as possible as he edges past Marc and then disappears out the door. Marc looks around his now empty apartment to see everything straightened up, no evidence of his meltdown remaining. Even the glass in the corner is swept up. Marc considers throwing the extra coffee mug at the wall, but decides against it and downs both cups instead. He looks around again and realizes how long it must have taken Kris to tidy everything back up. Kris came over in the middle of the day to nurse him from a hangover, found his apartment trashed and cleaned it up, and even made Marc coffee. And what did Marc do? Yelled at him and kicked him out. Marc realizes what a dick he has been to his best friend, and for what? For sleeping with some hoe? Kris can sleep with whoever he wants, and it’s none of Marc’s business.

He has to apologize.

He goes out and buys a toque. He scrawls his usual ‘M’ on it and, the next day at practice, leaves it in Kris’s stall before the d-man arrives. Kris carefully ignores the toque, setting his bag down on top of it, but after practice, Marc sees him wearing it when he leaves. Marc goes into town to buy another toque, this a soft maroon, before going home. He repeats the process the next day, and again Kris ignores it at first, but leaves wearing the toque. Hoping that means it’s working, Marc repeats the process. Kris actually smiles when he sees the toque this time, picks it up and runs his fingers over the custom stitch work. Marc had had to go a ways out of town to find a place where he could get the ‘M’ actually sewn into the fabric, and he hopes Kris likes it. Kuni leans over to look and tells Kris he likes it. Kris just grins and reaches up to stretch the toque over his ever-perfect hair. He finishes getting ready for practice, fits his bucket on over the toque and goes out onto the ice. Marc grins and shakes his head. Beside him, Geno nudges him with an elbow and smiles knowingly. Marc blushes, and Geno laughs and follows Kris onto the ice. Practice is awesome. Kris can’t seem to stop grinning, and it’s making Marc’s heart soar. After practice, Kris waits around for Marc and the rest of the guys clear out pretty quick, leaving them alone to talk. Kris is still wearing the toque, and it reeks to high heavens, but he’s grinning and looking up at Marc through his lashes, and Marc can handle a little sweat.

“Thank you,” Kris says softly.

Marc leans down to press his forehead to Kris’s. “Thank you,” he says. “For coming over the other day to check on me, and straightening up my apartment, and just for everything.”

“We’re buddies,” Kris breathes.

And it sounds ridiculous. The way they’re standing and the way he breathed it like . . . like something wildly more intimate than his actual words. Marc steps back because he can’t handle that right now, and Kris’s eyes snap open.

“Why were you so mad at me?”

Because I want your dick. There, he admitted it. But it’s still only in his head. He sighs, wondering if this is really the time to say all this.

“Come over to my apartment, okay? We can talk there.”

*********

Marc panics the whole way back to his apartment, trying to figure out how he’s supposed to say this. How are you supposed to tell your best friend you’re jealous because he was with a woman? Just stare at him when he jokingly asks if Marc can’t pick up chicks. Watch as he realizes what Marc actually means. Cringe while he yells. Sit and feel broken when he slams the door. Follow him around pitifully when he never speaks to Marc again. Let in his every shot when Marc gets traded and they have to play each other. Live alone and sad for the rest of his life. Okay, maybe that’s a little extreme, but there’s no way this can end well.

Marc lets them into the apartment, and Kris goes straight to the kitchen to get them two Gatorades. Like he lives there. Like always. It makes Marc smile fondly, and when Kris looks back at him, he ducks his head and blushes.

“Shut up,” he says, his voice hard and defensive.

Marc holds up his hands, trying to communicate a peace offering. Kris just pushes the Gatorade bottle into Marc’s chest, and when Marc takes it, Kris stalks off to the living room. He jumps over the back of the couch, landing on his usual seat, and Marc joins him, sitting a little further apart than he normally would. Kris still has his head down, glaring at where his hands are twisting the cap on his bottle. He reaches up and strokes a hand over his toque, fingers brushing the ‘M’, as if to make sure it’s still there. He seems to relax minutely finding it against his fingertips, but then he goes rigid again as his hands drop back to his bottle.

“Kris,” Marc starts.

“What?” Kris snaps.

“Calm down, okay?”

Kris glares at the floor and shifts uncomfortably.

“You okay, man?” Marc asks, reaching out and laying a hand on Kris’s knee. Kris nudges into the touch, then stops himself, but he isn’t pulling away so Marc starts to run his thumb along the inside seam of Kris’s jeans, too slow to be anything but purposeful. Kris just stares at Marc’s hand and doesn’t move.

“You okay, Kris?”

Marc’s voice makes Kris jump about a foot off the couch, and Marc struggles to suppress a grin. Kris looks up at him, looking lost, but soon breaks into a grin and punches Marc’s shoulder. “Shut up.”

Then Kris is moving, leaning over Marc and trapping his hand between his knees. He falls back to his seat and flips the remote now in his hands around and turns the tv on. It’s still on HGTV, and he grins and shakes his head, but drops the remote on the couch next to him and settles in to watch Love It or List It. Marc just watches him, and finally Kris looks back at him. Marc tries to ignore the way Kris’s eyes drift down to his mouth then snap back to his eyes before he shrugs and turns back to the tv. Marc shakes his head, but smiles at the slight blush coloring Kris’s cheeks and turns to face forward, settling in on the couch so his shoulder bumps Kris’s. He doesn’t move his hand still on Kris’s thigh, and Kris doesn’t shy away from the touch, so he’s counting it as a win. They’re supposed to be talking, but Marc’s content to just sit together companionably, watching one testosterone killing show after another. Except that isn’t going to get them anywhere.

“List it,” Kris says quietly beside him.

“Love it,” Marc counters.

The couple lists their house. The pair sits and watches another episode and then another, and then Kris gets up and goes into the kitchen to fix them lunch. Marc goes to sit at the breakfast nook and watch as Kris frowns through Marc’s kitchen. Finally he scraps together something that actually looks good considering the scarcity of workable food in Marc’s kitchen.

“What’s this?” Marc asks, sifting his fork through it.

“Stone soup,” Kris grins. “Seriously how do you fucking cook with all this nothing in your kitchen?”

“I don’t,” Marc admits. “I order out or wait for you to come over.”

“What’s that make me? Like, your wife or something?” Kris asks and flushes a deep crimson. “I didn’t say that.”

Marc reaches over to nudge Kris’s wrist with his own, but Kris flips his hand over and entwines their fingers. He stares at their hands as if trying to read a foreign language and not just the simple meaning behind the gesture. He lets go quickly and retracts his hand.

“Sorry,” he chokes out.

“It’s fine,” Marc says evenly, watching Kris carefully. Kris squirms under his gaze, and Marc lets it go. Kris starts talking hockey, and it takes Marc a half second to catch up, but he goes with it, because if he doesn’t want to scare Kris off, he’s going to have to give him time. Marc would be happy to lean across the counter and kiss Kris now, but he knows he can’t do that, knows he needs to let Kris figure it out for himself, and . . . see how it goes from there.

“So, um . . . You were good . . . In our last game,” Kris stammers. “I mean, congrats on the fucking shutout, man. I don’t think I ever told you how . . . How fucking good you were in net.”

Marc grins. “Thanks, man. That means a lot.”

Kris just nods.

They finish their lunch and then sit quietly, both watching the counter, waiting for the other one to make the first move.

“Marc, what . . . ,” Kris stops and frowns.

Marc waits for him, will always wait for him.

“We’re buddies, right?”

It isn’t really what Marc wants to hear, but . . . “Of course.”

“Okay,” Kris is still frowning, though, as if there’s something he just can’t quite figure out. “I think . . .”

Marc waits, trying not to hope.

“I think I should go.”

That really isn’t what Marc wants to hear, and before he can stop it, he asks, sounding lost, “Wait, what?”

“Game tomorrow. We both need to rest so we can be at our best.”

It’s a bad excuse, and they both know it. Marc shouldn’t press, but . . . “It’s barely one in the afternoon, Kris.”

He sounds a little too desperate. Kris is standing, and Marc can feel him slipping through his hands.

“I think I’m going to head home for an early afternoon nap.”

“You know you can do that here?”

It’s awkward. It’s really fucking awkward. Marc needs to stop, but he can never seem to shut his big mouth when he’s so close to Kris.

“I know. I, uh . . . Listen, I just wanna go home, okay, Marc?” he looks tired, resigned.

Marc finally just nods. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And then Kris is gone. Again. Fuck, Marc was so close. But Kris has to be getting it now, right? He’s just confused, and . . . Marc stops there, doesn’t want to think that Kris may not feel the same way. But Kris was the one that grabbed Marc’s hand. That has to count for something. If Marc keeps thinking about it, though, he’s going to give himself a headache. He stands and cleans up his kitchen, his apartment suddenly too quiet without Kris there. He goes to the living room and turns off the tv, and then trudges to his bedroom, and crawls into his bed. After a few minutes of tossing and turning, he strips down naked, how he likes to sleep best, and then curls into a ball, and drifts off. When he wakes up, Kris is laying beside him, equally naked and looking lost but aroused. He leans over and kisses Marc softly. Marc groans and moves atop the d-man. Kris shudders beneath him, clutching at Marc’s arms, hanging on as if for his life. Marc leans over, reaching for the nightstand drawer, but Kris’s hand on his shoulder holds him back.

“Go on. I’m good,” he gasps out. Marc looks at him questioningly, and Kris explains hastily. “I . . . I prepped myself in the bathroom before I came in here.”

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Marc groans, grinding down against Kris, making Kris buck into him. Marc’s slides a hand down Kris’s chest, brushes his fingertips down Kris’s hot, hard cock, and then slips his hand down between Kris’s thighs. He pushes two fingers in, and it’s a tight fit as he works them back and forth. Kris writhes, his breath coming quick. Marc carefully adds a third finger, and Kris gasps and groans at the stretch. Marc works his fingers, carefully stretching Kris, and Kris rocks himself down onto them. Marc curls his fingers, and suddenly Kris is arching off the bed, with a moan that makes Marc shudder. He hits that spot again, and Kris is writhing beneath him, begging breathily for more. Reluctantly, Marc withdraws his fingers, and Kris groans his displeasure. Marc hushes him with a kiss, and lines himself up. He pushes in, sinking all the way before pausing to let Kris adjust. Marc can feel Kris’s breath coming hot and fast against his shoulder, before Kris pushes down, urging Marc to move. They begin to move together, eurhythmic. And fuck, it’s perfect.

Marc wakes up rutting against his bed. By the time he’s aware of the fact that Kris isn’t beneath him, he doesn’t care enough to do anything but finish, shaking and blowing his load on his sheets. He groans at the mess, but lays still, trying to catch his breath and recover. He’s almost dozed back off when his phone starts ringing on the nightstand. He groans and fumbles for it, not bothering to check who it is before answering.

“Allo?” he mumbles.

“Marc, hey,” Kris sounds surprised to hear Marc on the other end. “Did I wake you up?”

“Just a little bit,” Marc says, stifling a yawn.

“Sorry, I just . . . Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Kris. Really, I needed to get up anyway.”

“Oh, okay.”

Marc waits for Kris to keep talking, but he doesn’t. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, I . . . Sorry. I’m just gonna go,” Kris mumbles, sounding unsure of himself.

“Kris,” Marc says solidly, hoping to steady the d-man.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Marc,” Kris says.

“Damn it, fucker. You woke me up. Why did you call?” It’s good. It’s companionable: the way friends, teammates talk to each other. No intimacy.

“I . . . had a dream about you,” Kris says.

Oh.

“Really?” Marc says, making his voice sound as suggestive as possible, trying to make Kris laugh.

Kris chokes on a cough. “Yeah.”

“What were we doing?” Fuck. Marc cringes the second it’s out of his mouth, because that’s crossing the line. He’s about to apologize when Kris starts stuttering on the other end.

“Playing hockey. What else?” Kris is aiming for nonchalant, but he speaks too fast.

He’s lying. Marc decides not to point it out. He rolls over on his back and huffs a laugh. “You’ve been spending too much time with Sid.” Except Marc knows he hasn’t, because Kris has been spending all his time with Marc.

Kris laughs, and there’s a relieved edge to it. “I guess, man.”

“So tell me about it,” Marc prompts. And then he realizes that’s a mistake, because Kris is lying, and he’ll have to continue to make it up on the fly.

“It was a game. Against the, uh . . . Flyers. I scored once. And you did, too. Empty netter. You launched it pretty hard, and, uh . . . It went in.”

Marc can almost see Kris’s blush. The innuendo in Kris’s words is rousing Marc’s cock again. Marc shakes his head, determined not to reach down. Fuck, how does Kris always do this to him? “That sounds awesome, Kris. I think I’d be happy if that happened.”

“Yeah?” Kris sounds hopeful.

“Yeah,” Marc grins, and he can just see Kris’s smile. “What about you? What would you think about us both scoring in one night?”

“I . . . ,” Kris falters. “I think that’d be alright.”

It’s cheesy as hell, and they’re definitely not going to acknowledge the fact that they aren’t talking about hockey, but Marc’s elated all the same.

“I was just dreaming about you, too,” he admits.

“What was yours about?”

“Pretty much the same thing.”

“Y’know,” Kris says. “There may be something to that.”

**********

The next morning at practice, Kris won’t even look at him. When Kris skates by, Marc taps his shins with his stick, but Kris ignores him and doesn’t skate that close again. Kris disappears before Marc can talk to him in the locker room and doesn’t return any of his texts before the game. Marc eventually gives up and goes to take his pre-game nap, leaving his boxers on because his sheets are clean from where he had to change them yesterday. He settles in, pulling his knees to his chest and is out hard. A long time later, his ring tone rouses him from his nap.

“What?”

“Marc, we have a game.”

“Tonight, yeah.”

“No, Marc, now. You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago.”

“What?!”

“It’s game time, Marc.”

Marc leaps out of bed, dresses hurriedly, grabs his bag, and is out the door. He speeds to the rink and stumbles inside where he gets a lecture from Sid while he pulls on his pads and another one from Coach when he gets on the ice. Coach threatens to trade his ass to Dallas, but lets him keep his starting position. Marc plays like shit through the first, giving up two goals, only two, thanks to Kris. Marc does better in the second, only giving up one, and the offense picks up a pair of goals to tie it up. In the third, Marc is his usual brick wall self, and the offense nets two. The Pens take a five to three win; it isn’t pretty, but they’ll take it. Marc gets another earful from Coach and Sid, but Kris is grinning shyly in his direction, so he doesn’t mind too much. Some of the guys are going out for beer and Kris drags Marc along, not that Marc minds very much, especially when they all crowd into a booth together, and Kris is plastered to his side, jostling, laughing, and just so happy. Happy Kris is Marc’s favourite Kris. Around midnight, Marc is polishing off a fourth beer and insisting that he really needs to be heading home. Kris presses into him, and Marc’s struggling not to reach down and just grope the fuck out of him.

“C’mon,” Kris is tugging on his arm. “Let’s go, Marc.”

“Dude, you’re on the outside,” Marc laughs, as Kris pushes at him.

“Oh,” Kris grins and turns to slide out of the booth.

Marc follows and lets Kris pull him outside and push him into a cab. On the ride to Marc’s apartment, Kris curls around him with his head on Marc’s shoulder. They get to Marc’s building, and Kris is stumbling out of the cab, pulling Marc inside and shoving him playfully into the elevator where he crowds against Marc and slumps against him again, laying his head on Marc’s chest. Marc wraps an arm around him and focuses on the rise and fall of Kris’s breathing. When the elevator dings at Marc’s floor, Kris doesn’t move, and Marc looks down to see Kris about half-asleep leaning against him. Marc shakes Kris’s shoulder softly, then half-carries, half-drags Kris to his apartment. Kris is awake by then, and pulls Marc to the living room, flops down on the couch and tugs Marc’s arm until he sits down next to him. Kris fumbles for the remote and switches on the tv, giggling so hard he falls into Marc’s lap when he finds it still tuned to HGTV. Marc strokes a hand over Kris’s hair and Kris pushes into the touch. Kris sits up and attaches himself to Marc’s side, and they watch episode after episode of whatever’s on at that hour; Marc isn’t even paying attention anymore.

“Marc, I’m sleepy,” Kris yawns.

“Me, too. Let’s go, Kris. You can crash here tonight.”

Marc hauls Kris to his feet and pulls him into his own room, and Kris is sprawled over his bed before Marc can think better of it.

“Kris, c’mon, get up, man,” Marc says, and Kris just groans at him. “At least take your pants off before you fall asleep.”

Kris groans again, but moves to take his pants off while staying as flat on the bed as he can. And then Kris is laying in Marc’s bed in a t-shirt and his underwear. He’s laying flat on his stomach and yeah, that’s the curve of his ass, and Marc . . . Marc is hit by a wave of need to get his hands or mouth on the perfectly round swell. He settles for a sharp smack, and the damn thing doesn’t move. Woof.

“Kris, out of my bed.”

Kris grasps for a pillow and presses it down against him. He waves his hand in the general direction of the other side of the bed. Marc huffs a sigh, and slips out of his own pants before sliding into the bed on the other side of the pillow. He lies on his back to stare up at the ceiling, because, c’mon, how is he supposed to sleep when Kris is laying pantsless next to him? Kris raises up on his elbows and looks down at him.

“Hi,” Marc says quietly.

“Hey,” Kris nods.

Kris just stares at him until Marc starts to squirm.

“G’night, Marc.”

“G’night, Kris.”

Kris leans down and kisses Marc chastely, just a soft touch of lips against his own. Kris leans back up, murmurs another “G’night”, and lays back down on his own side of the bed. Marc stares up at the ceiling, dazed, even as Kris’s breathing evens out, and he begins to snore softly. Finally, Marc raises up on an elbow to look over at Kris. Kris has his pillow snuggled up and is sleeping peacefully. Marc can’t help himself, knows Kris is out hard and will never know, so he reaches over and softly cups Kris’s ass. It’s warm, and round, and perfect. Marc huffs at himself before letting go and laying back down to glare at the ceiling. After a moment or two, he yawns and turns over, curling into a ball, and falls asleep. The next morning, he wakes first. Kris still has the pillow cuddled up, and his hair is a wreck. Marc can’t help a fond smile. Before he can think too much about the man laying next to him, Marc gets up to go make breakfast. He starts cooking random food and waits for Kris to wake up so he can make some sense of it, like he always does. Sure enough, Kris stumbles in a few minutes after the coffee starts to brew, looking sweet and tired. Kris rubs his eyes and nods a good morning to Marc before ushering him out of the kitchen so that he can work. Marc settles at the breakfast nook to watch Kris work his magic. Kris wakes up while he cooks and is fully coherent when he serves breakfast and sits down across from Marc. He picks at his breakfast a moment before looking, a little lostly, up at Marc.

“Marc . . . Last night . . . ?”

“Nothing happened,” Marc assures. “You just slept over.”

“In your bed?”

“You put a pillow between us.”

Kris blushes. “Before we went to sleep . . . Did I . . . ?”

“You just kissed me goodnight,” Marc says softly.

Kris groans and drops his head to his hands. “Please tell me it was just on the forehead?”

Marc winces. “Not exactly.”

Kris drops his chin to his chest. “I’m sorry,” he says softly.

“It’s okay, man. We were both kinda drunk, yeah?”

No. By the time they’d gone to bed, the buzz had deteriorated almost completely.

“Right,” Kris says, raising his head, but not looking at Marc.

Marc changes the subject to their upcoming roadtrip, and Kris relaxes visibly. Breakfast is comfortable, companionable. If companions usually shared breakfast in their underwear. Marc chalks that up to being hockey players, and thus, closer than usual friends. After they finish eating, Kris goes to shower, in Marc’s bathroom, and comes out a while later, towel-drying his hair and bitching about Marc’s shampoo. Marc grins, chirps Kris’s masculinity, and goes to take his own shower, carefully not thinking that Kris had been naked in this very same space mere minutes ago. C’mon, the floor of the shower is still wet; how is he supposed to ignore that? When he comes out of the bathroom, Kris is perched on the end of his bed, and he curses the very universe for doing this to him. He starts to pull his towel tighter around his hips, and Kris snorts, citing the many times he’s caught Marc wandering around his apartment naked. Marc shrugs, but still slips his boxers on under his towel before dropping it. He finishes getting dressed, and they go to the living room for just one episode of Property Brothers before Kris coughs and says they should probably go get their cars. So Marc loans him a jacket and they go downstairs and hail a cab. On the ride back to the bar, they chatter ninety miles a minute in French while the driver glances at them in the rearview mirror from time to time, questioningly. They stand together, between their cars in the parking lot, and don’t say anything, both kicking at the gravels at their feet, not wanting to leave each other’s company. Marc is watching Kris, and finally Kris clears his throat and looks up at Marc, looking small and innocent and lost, and Marc barely fights the urge to lean down and kiss him.

“You left one of your toques at my apartment,” he blurts before he can think better of it. He clears his throat and stammers through an explanation. “Last week, sometime. I was going to bring it to you, but I kept forgetting it. I, uh . . . think I still have it in my car.”

He unlocks his car and ducks in, snagging the toque off the console. He carefully ignores the fact that he can feel Kris’s eyes on his ass. It’s not much, but he briefly hopes Kris likes what he sees. He straightens again and turns. He stares at the toque in his hands, turns it over, and curls his fingers in it. Finally, he looks up and holds it out to Kris. Kris takes it, brushing their fingers together. He stares at it a second before handing it back, stepping close to Marc, and ducking his head. Marc sucks in a breath and reaches up to stretch the toque over Kris’s ever-perfect hair. Kris keeps his head down for just a second when Marc lets his hands fall awkwardly to his sides, but then he surges forward and seizes Marc in a tight hug. Marc falters, but wraps his arms around the other man and lays a cheek on top of his head where it’s resting on Marc’s shoulder. Kris clings to him like a child, unsure and afraid, and Marc holds him close, silently telling him it’s okay. And Kris just hangs on. Marc counts to fifteen before Kris finally steps back.

“Thank you,” breathes the d-man.

“No problem,” Marc nods minutely.

Then Kris disappears into his car and drives off. Marc shivers in the cool fall air and slides into his own car. He drives back to his apartment, which again feels too empty without Kris there. He mopes around for a while, not really sure what to do without him anymore. He’s about to just give up and lay down for an afternoon nap when his phone buzzes. He grins when he sees Kris’s name lighting up the screen.

“Sup, fucker?” he answers.

“I forgot to give your jacket back,” Kris says.

“That’s okay,” Marc says. “I’ll get it from you sometime.”

“Okay,” Kris says. Marc waits but he doesn’t continue.

“Listen, I’ll pick you up tomorrow and drive us to the rink. How’s that sound?”

It doesn’t make much sense. Marc lives closer, and Kris is on the other side of town, but Marc doesn’t really care at the moment.

“I’d like that,” Kris says quietly.

“Cool,” Marc grins.

“So what’re you up to?”

They talk for hours. It’s ridiculous; they’re acting like teenagers. Marc even roams aimlessly around his apartment grinning at nothing. They’ve been spending all their time together for something like a week, so they really don’t have anything to talk about, but they talk hockey, and they actually end up watching a couple episodes of House Hunters together, bitching at the families and ohhing and ahhing at the houses over the phone. And it’s good. Not exactly companionable anymore, but maybe a little more, and it’s good. It’s progress, and Marc will take every small gesture he can get. When the sun is just beginning to noticeably descend, Kris invites Marc out to dinner. Which is just as ridiculous as everything that has happened since they parted ways, but Marc agrees anyway, because everything between them anymore is ridiculous. Kris suggests a place Marc hasn’t heard of, which is surprising because Marc knows the city like the back of his blocker. Kris tells him it’s a ways outside of town and says he’ll just come pick Marc up. Marc can’t help a laugh at how completely ridiculous they both are but agrees. Kris shows up fifteen minutes later, coming up to Marc’s apartment, making it feel suspiciously like a date, but Marc doesn’t say anything, just follows Kris back outside to his car. Once inside, Kris turns to grin at him.

“I missed you, man.” And then he blushes, and Marc can’t help but lean over and kiss his cheek. Kris giggles and squirms, but not away.

“It’s only been a few hours, and we’ve been on the phone ever since,” Marc reminds him, and Kris flushes an even deeper crimson.

“I know, but it’s not the same, y’know?”

Marc nods. “I know what you mean,” he says softly.

Kris sits quietly a moment, then clears his throat and starts his car. And then he drives and heroically puts up with Marc playing with the radio. About twenty minutes out of town, Kris takes a side road that leads to a small diner. Marc follows him in and is dazzled by the inside. It’s a small, hometown joint, but it’s dedicated to Penguins hockey. Kris turns to grin at him.

“Pretty sweet, eh?”

“Yeah,” Marc breathes, looking around at the walls, cluttered with Pens memorabilia, dating back to the organization’s birth. He follows Kris absently to a booth at the end of the diner and slides in next to him, instead of across from him as would be logical. He blushes at his mistake and turns to see Kris also blushing slightly and staring at a scratch on the table.

“Do you want me to move? I can sit over there,” Marc gestures vaguely to the seat across from them.

Kris shakes his head minutely. “No, that’s fine.”

They take up menus and pretend to study them intently. Soon, a short, plump, older looking lady bustles over and spends about ten minutes gushing over them, before shaking her head with a laugh and taking their orders. The food’s good, great really. It actually tastes home cooked, which is hard to find away from, well . . . home. They laugh and chirp each other, bumping shoulders, and it’s good. Still a little more than companionable, and that’s just fine with Marc, because finally, Kris is coming around. It’s a slow process, but Marc is willing to wait. After the main course has been reduced to crumbs and smeared sauce on their plates, they grin conspiringly and order a brownie to share, vowing not to tell on each other. The absentminded waitress only brings them one fork which they pass back and forth. Then the waitress brings them the check, grinning and saying something about a player discount. Marc leans over to read the receipt over Kris’s shoulder. At the bottom, beneath the total is a -50% and the new total, half the original amount.

“Half-off?” he asks.

“Nice, right?”

Marc nudges Kris’s shoulder with his own playfully. “Cheap.”

And of course, Kris blushes and starts stammering an explanation, “No, I just really thought you’d like this place, and . . .”

“Kris,” Marc cuts him off. He nudges again, gently. “Kidding.”

“Oh.” Kris goes back to studying the table.

Marc laughs at him, and then they’re joking again, and it’s good. Kris pays, and they leave, sliding into Kris’s car. Kris drives, and Marc continues to play with the radio until Kris huffs and switches to the CD. The music is unfamiliar, but it’s pretty good, so Marc’s content. They drive back to the city, but Kris doesn’t go directly to Marc’s apartment. He drives into town and then just around, aimlessly. Sometimes they kid around, sometimes they ride in silence, and it’s good. Comfortable. It feels like a date, like Kris doesn’t want to take Marc home, because he doesn’t want to leave Marc. Eventually, Kris takes them to a coffee shop, buys them each a steaming cup, and then drives to a quiet park. They get out and walk around the park before settling on a secluded bench under a tree. It really fucking feels like a date, but Marc doesn’t say anything about it. Kris nudges his knee against Marc’s and grins at him.

“Hi.”

It’s adorable. And stupid. And Marc doesn’t know whether to laugh or kiss him.

“Hey.” He can’t help the little giggle.

“Today was fun.”

Marc nods. “I had a really good time.”

Kris nods and they sit together, watching the sunset in silence. Then it’s dark, and they both start to shiver, discreetly scooting closer to each other until their hips are pressed together. Finally, Kris sighs, and his breath forms a cloud in front of him.

“Guess I should take you home?” he asks, looking more than a little reluctant. Then he blushes. “I mean, back to your apartment, y’know.”

Marc smiles softly, fondly. “Guess so.”

So they walk back to Kris’s car, dropping their now-empty cups in a trash can on the way out. The inside of the car is cold, and they sit in the parking lot until it warms up before finally, Kris pulls out. The car gets really warm and it’s making Marc sleepy. He’s halfway dozing off when they get back to his building. But then Kris turns the car off, and he’s awake. They get out, and Kris follows him inside. They stand together quietly in the elevator, empty at this hour, carefully not acknowledging how more-than-friends-like Kris walking Marc to his door is. The elevator dings at Marc’s floor, and they trudge into the hall. They walk as slow as they can, both staring at the floor with their hands stuffed in their pockets. It’s awkward, but not enough that either of them wants to leave the other’s company any time soon. When they get to the door, there’s an awkward moment of silence that Marc cannot leave hanging.

“I had a really good time hanging out with you today,” he says.

“Yeah, me too,” Kris says hastily.

Marc waits. He knows he’s taking a risk in doing so, but he can’t help it; he’s never wanted anything more than for Kris to kiss him right now. Finally the d-man looks up at him with the now-familiar lost look on his face. He opens his mouth to say something, then shuts it and goes back to staring at the floor. But he isn’t leaving, so Marc waits. He feels bad for Kris, wonders if he should initiate. But no. He has to let Kris get there at his own pace so he doesn’t scare him off.

“It’s okay, Kris,” he whispers.

Kris looks back up at him, and Marc can’t read his expression. But then he’s tilting his face up and leaning forward, and finally, finally, he kisses Marc. He lingers but doesn’t deepen it past a soft press of lips. He leans back and drops his gaze to the floor again but sucks his bottom lip into his mouth.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Kris,” Marc repeats.

“Can I try that again?” Kris asks, looking nervous, like he thinks Marc’s going to say no.

It’s awkward, but they’re awkward, so Marc rolls with it. He can’t suppress the small, fond smile as he nods.

Kris leans up again, and their lips touch, and it’s no less awesome than the first time. Then Kris’s mouth is moving against Marc’s, and the tendy melts, submitting to Kris. Kris still seems somewhat lost, but he takes the control that Marc is offering him. And then his tongue ghosts over Marc’s bottom lip, and Marc fucking groans out as he opens his mouth to Kris. Kris’s tongue slips tentatively into his mouth, but then he gains confidence and explores Marc’s mouth hungrily. Marc is feeling light-headed, but tries to hold on to memorize every second of this, because he will not forget this moment. Because it’s perfect. He’s barely aware of the burning in his lungs from lack of oxygen until Kris pulls back, and they suck in a sharp breath at the same time. Marc reaches out to grab Kris’s hand, and Kris looks up and smiles, and Marc smiles back. They both catch their breath, and Kris leans in close again, looking up at Marc.

“Was that okay?” he whispers.

Marc shrugs playfully. “It was only the greatest kiss of my life.”

Kris blushes a familiar crimson and mumbles, “I meant, was it okay that I did it, but I guess . . .”

Marc huffs a laugh. “Are you kidding? I’ve been wanting you to do that for weeks.”

“Oh.”

Fuck.

Kris suddenly looks scared again, lost and unsure, and fuck, Marc pushed too far.

“I didn’t mean . . . ,” but he breaks off, not really sure what it is he wasn’t supposed to have meant.

“It’s fine,” Kris says. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Still want me to pick you up?”

“Ah . . . Sure, that’s fine.”

“Okay,” Marc smiles softly. “I’ll see you then.”

Kris nods and stuffs his hands in his pockets. He looks up, kissing Marc quickly on the mouth, and then he’s gone, walking a little too fast down the hall. He’ll be fine, Marc assures himself. Kris had to have at least guessed that there had been something up for a while, right? Marc shakes his head and goes into his apartment. He goes straight to his bedroom, determined to get as much sleep as possible, knowing he’ll have to wake up at the crack of dawn to go pick Kris up. He strips naked and slips into bed, but he can’t sleep, just keeps tossing and turning, until finally he has to get up and go to the bathroom to jerk off while reliving the kiss in his mind. He cleans up and goes back to bed, curling up and passing out. He sleeps like a baby, if not long enough, but after the usual jolt his alarm clock brings, his heart leaps again in anticipation of seeing Kris. He’s excited to see him again, because they’re in a whole new place in their relationship, but at the same time, he’s nervous as hell, because Kris is easily scared away, and Marc hopes he’s okay, but tries to prepare himself for Kris probably not even looking at him. He drags himself out of the warmth of his bed and into the warmth of his shower. He dresses, grabs his bag, and goes downstairs and out to his car. He stops at a coffee shop on the way to Kris’s apartment and buys them a couple croissants. He texts Kris to tell him he’s on his way, and when he gets there, Kris is already waiting for him outside. Kris tosses his bag in the back with Marc’s then slips into the passenger seat. He looks fresh and awake, wearing the toque Marc had had custom stitched with the ‘M’ on the back.

“Morning,” he grins.

“Morning,” Marc returns, so relieved that Kris isn’t being all shy and nervous.

Kris leans over and kisses him softly. When he leans back, Marc is more than a little dazed and doesn’t move until Kris giggles and nudges his elbow. Then he shifts into drive and pulls out of the parking lot.

“I brought breakfast,” he says, nodding to the bag sitting in the console between them.

“Awesome,” Kris says, tearing in. “I’m starving.”

On the ride to the rink, they polish off the croissants and coffee. They’re among the first in the parking lot, and Marc sits and watches with a small, fond smile while Kris dials through his radio.

“You’re really great, y’know?” Kris says suddenly.

“Hm?” Marc hums.

“Bringing breakfast and all. It was good.”

Marc may blush just a little. “Yeah, store-bought breakfast. Doesn’t even begin to compare to every time you’ve made us breakfast.”

Kris grins, but only turns the dial again. He reaches over to take Marc’s hand resting on the console and continues to scan the stations. Marc squeezes his hand, and Kris squeezes back. Finally, it’s time to go, and they stuff their bags in the under compartments and file onto the bus with their less-awake teammates. They sit together; Marc even lets Kris sit next to the window. Then they’re at the airport, and the long stretch of road trip begins. They don’t room together, but they spend what time they can together, mostly just hanging out, though sometimes, one pulls the other into some secluded corner and they share a single, feverish kiss. They have one more home game in the month, and while they’re in Pittsburgh, it may as well be another stop in their roadtrip; Coach running them into the ice at practice, and Sid making sure none of them have any fun when they aren’t at the rink. The month ends with its wins and losses, as every month of the season does. Then they’re back home, and the first night back in the ‘burgh, Kris sleeps over. He keeps a pillow between them, after asking Marc about a hundred times if it was alright and insisting he could sleep in the other bedroom. Marc wakes up first and gazes fondly over at Kris. The d-man is cuddling his pillow, but his knees had drifted up to rest at the small of Marc’s back. When Marc gets up, Kris scoots over into the warm place Marc left behind. Marc smiles at that, then tears himself away to go start breakfast. He puts on coffee which rouses Kris in minutes. He comes into the kitchen, and Marc lets him take over. They take their breakfast to the living room to watch HGTV, and Kris pulls his legs up beneath him and leans into Marc’s side. After breakfast, they both shower and then settle back in the living room to play Xbox. They go out to lunch, and then Kris is saying he should be getting home, and Marc drives him to his apartment because he understands; they haven’t been in town hardly at all for a month, and Kris wants to go home. Kris starts texting him as soon as Marc gets back to his apartment, and they text on and off for the rest of the evening.

*********

Kris is being weird again. Not weird in the not talking to Marc way, but weird in the being slow to progress part. For weeks, they only share a kiss here and there. Always one or two, never even a full blown makeout sesh. It’s driving Marc nuts, because Kris’s kisses are fucking awesome, but damn it, he’s been waiting a long fucking time, and Kris is giving him next to nothing. One night, after several episodes of House Hunters, Kris says he should head home, and he leans over on the couch to kiss Marc. When he starts to pull back, Marc follows him and captures him in another heated kiss. When Kris moves back for air a second time, Marc pulls him in and kisses him again. Kris goes with it, but on the fourth kiss, he starts to pull away.

“Wait, Marc. What are you doing?” he asks, a little breathless and looking lost again.

Marc shrugs. “Kissing.”

“But . . . ,” Kris looks like he’s trying to solve a multi-functioned trigonometric equation.

“People sometimes kiss more than twice, Kris,” Marc says gently.

Kris shifts, looking uncomfortable.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Marc says quickly.

Kris exhales and slumps against Marc. “I do want to,” he mutters.

“Then what’s the problem?” Marc asks quietly.

“It’s just weird,” Kris frowns. “You’re my best friend and my teammate, oh, and a guy.”

“Seriously? You’re still having your big gay freakout?”

“No,” Kris says softly. “But what if . . . ?”

He trails off, but Marc knows exactly where he was going with that sentence.

“What if nothing,” Marc says firmly. “We’re still buddies, and we’re always good together on the ice. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t see myself getting bored with you anytime soon.”

“But later . . . ?”

Marc slaps Kris’s shoulder for that. “Not later either, fucker.”

Kris sits up again and looks at Marc. “Okay.” He kisses Marc once and then is on his feet, walking down the hall.

“What the hell?” Marc calls, turning to look at Kris over the back of the couch.

Kris turns as he opens the door. “Goodnight,” he grins. And then he’s gone.

“That little shit,” Marc mutters to himself. Then he hauls himself off the couch and gets ready for bed, stripping down, but too restless to sleep. Fuck, he needs more.

*********

Kris doesn’t kiss him for a week. They still hang out, but when Kris leaves, he either nudges Marc’s shoulder or announces that he’s going to leave and then just does. Marc is just thinking miserably that he’s never going to get to sex Kris up when Kris lurches forward, knocking him off balance. And then Kris is laying on top of him on Marc’s couch with Love It Or List It still on in the background. Kris smiles a little shyly before leaning down to kiss Marc. And then again. And then . . . Marc almost forgets to take a breath . . . Again. Marc moans into the kiss, and Kris smirks a little against his mouth. Marc loses count pretty quick, and they just lay there, making out like teenagers, and it’s awesome. They both get caught up in it, until finally, between a few chaste kisses, Kris is murmuring, “I really should be going.”

“Stay a while,” Marc offers, and Kris just grins.

Marc smiles back. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

Kris leans down to kiss him softly. “Thank you for being so patient with me.”

Marc carefully doesn’t say anything about how bad he wants to hold Kris down and  
fuck him senseless right now. “I’ll wait as long as you need,” he says instead.

Kris moves to lay in front of Marc, and they cuddle their way through another episode before Kris is insisting again that he needs to go. He does this time, and Marc realizes how much worse the emptiness of his apartment feels now. So now, every few times Kris comes over, they engage in makeout sessions. It’s awesome, really fucking awesome, but after another few weeks, Marc starts getting restless again, worse now. So he decides to take action. One night, they’re kissing on the couch, and Kris is pretty into it, so Marc thinks it’s as good a time as any to make his move. So he does. Literally. He shifts his hips so his half-hard cock is pressing into Kris’s hip. Kris rolls his hips down once and then freezes. He pulls away from Marc’s mouth to rest his forehead on Marc’s shoulder.

“You okay?” Marc asks softly.

“Yeah,” Kris gasps out, but he doesn’t move.

After a moment, Marc asks, “You sure?”

“No,” Kris breathes quietly. “Your dick’s on my hip.”

Marc can’t help a small laugh at that. “I know. I put it there.”

Kris looks up at him, looking lost. “Why?”

“We should progress at some point, right?” Marc says gently.

“Right, but . . .”

“Are you . . . not ready?”

Kris huffs a frustrated breath. “I don’t know,” he groans, dropping his head again.

“Hey, now,” Marc soothes, running his hand up Kris’s back. “Look at me, eh?”

Kris does, his face a mix of emotions.

“What’s wrong?” Marc asks softly.

Kris groans again. “I don’t know. I know eventually, we should keep going, but it’s still just so weird for me. Like, you’re ready to go there, and I’m still trying to figure everything out. It’s not that I’m not ready; I think I’m ready, but every time I think about doing more, there’s just this mental block. Like it’s some forbidden thing or something.”

Marc gets an idea and proposes it quietly: “Would you feel better if . . . it, that is, we, were accepted by someone?”

Kris considers a moment. “Maybe?”

“Well, we can tell Sid,” Marc offers.

Kris goes pale. “Why would we tell our captain?” he hisses like Sid is in the other room or something.

Marc shrugs. “’cause him and Geno have been fucking for years.”

Kris’s eyes get wide. “No way.”

“Yeah,” Marc insists. “How have you not picked up on that?”

Kris shakes his head. “I don’t know, man. That’s some weird shit.”

Marc grimaces, trying not to picture it. “Yeah . . . But do you think it might help to tell them? If we weren’t so forbidden anymore?”

Kris nods slowly. “I think so.”

Marc smiles then. “How about tomorrow? After practice.”

Kris looks nervous, but excited. “Okay.”

Marc makes a noise in his throat and presses up into Kris, but not with any sexual intent this time. “I can’t wait.”

Kris leans down and kisses him. “Me either.”

*********

The next day at practice, Kris is a little off. It’s obvious he’s nervous about coming out, and Sid keeps up a continuous stream of shouting. Kris is stammering apologies, but Sid just keeps yelling. At first, Marc just feels bad for Kris, but then he starts to get mad at Sid. When Sid gets too close and isn’t looking, head turned to yell at Kris, Marc trips Sid, sending him flying. Sid gets to his feet again, and his anger is turned to Marc. Marc scowls and takes the yelling, waves back at the shy wave Kris sends from behind Sid. Sid looks at Marc like he’s crazy, and Marc pretends to stretch, but can’t help but grin at Kris who laughs at the blue line.

“You think this is funny?” Sid erupts. He turns. “Shut up, Tanger. I’ll get back to you in a minute.”

And then Sid lights into Marc again, but Marc doesn’t really care. Sid’s usually a fucking psycho on the ice; he’ll be fine once they step skate off it. They struggle through practice, Sid yelling at everyone that they “fucking suck,” but when they get off the ice, he’s still pissed, worse if at all possible and drags the team to the gym for an extra two hours of conditioning. He works them all into the ground, and finally Coach yells at him to cool it. They trudge into the locker room; neither Marc nor Kris have the energy to say anything, and when Marc looks at Kris questioningly, Kris looks sick and shakes his head quickly. But it’s okay; there are two parts to that couple . . . . But Geno’s looking guilty on the other side of the room.

“What’s up, ya crazy Russian?” Marc asks, moving over and nudging Geno.

Geno shakes his head. “Sid being ass. My fault.”

“Oh,” Marc’s mood drops further. “What happened?”

Geno throws a hand up helplessly. “Screw up some fucking routine.”

Marc shakes his head. “Why is he so mad? He has about nine thousand routines; how can he expect you to remember all of them?”

Geno hums low in his throat. “Was . . . Should have known better.”

“Uh-oh,” Marc raises his eyebrows. “Care to share?”

“Yesterday, he want go gym. I . . . We not go gym,” Geno says, stuffing his pads into his bag.

“Still a workout, right?” Marc grins cheekily.

Geno shrugs and smiles slightly. “Would not have been bad, but then order pizza and try get him play Mario Kart.” He shakes his head. “He still want go gym. Crazy robot.”

“So he took it out on all of us because you wanted to get some and hang out last night? Does he not realize you’re a couple, and there’s another person in the relationship?”

Geno smiles fondly. “I used to him.”

“Tell you what,” Marc says. “Next time you wanna order pizza and play video games, you call me, alright? We don’t need another practice like today’s.”

Geno laughs, and Marc catches a glimpse of Sidney glaring from across the locker room. “I remember that,” Geno says.

“Listen, could you wait for me and Kris outside?” Marc finally gets to his point.

“Okay,” Geno says. “What about?”

“We’ll tell you out there,” Marc says quickly. “Keep Sid around if you can, eh?”

Geno nods. “See what I can do.”

He grins, and Marc returns the smile before going back to his own locker. Kris looks up at him, nervous and questioning.

“Geno’s going to wait outside for us,” Marc assures. “I asked him to bring Sid if he could get to him before the robot goes back to the gym.”

Kris grins and relaxes visibly.

As promised, Geno is waiting for them in the hall, because it’s freezing balls outside, and he even has an admittedly angry-looking Sid standing next to him with his arms crossed. Beside Marc, Kris is already shrinking back, closing in on himself to make himself as small as possible.

“What the fuck is this about?” Sid demands.

Marc rolls his eyes and shoves Sid. Sid looks shocked, and Marc just smirks.

“You . . . You can’t do that!” Sid splutters.

“Sid, lighten the fuck up, man,” Marc says.

Sid scowls, and Marc rolls his eyes again.

“Listen, Geno told me why you’re so mad,” he starts. Sid turns his glare on Geno who stares at Marc like he’s about to walk Geno in front of a firing squad. Marc ignores him, and continues. “And you really need to get this stick out of your ass. Geno is a good fucking man for putting up with all your psycho bullshit, and you need to remember that he’s part of your relationship, too. He tries his damnedest to not disturb all your insane routines, and you gave him nothing in return last night. He puts up with everything, and the one time he wants to stay in and be all sweet and sappy and couple-y, you lose your shit, not only at him, but at the entire team. Sidney Crosby, that was damn selfish, and you should be ashamed.”

Sid gapes at him, but hangs his head. The other two stare at Marc, because that was bold as fuck; he went up against the current prodigy of the NHL, and won. Sid finally looks up. “You’re right. I’m sorry, to all of you for practice today. I’ll apologize to everyone tomorrow before skate,” he turns to Geno and says more softly, “I’m sorry about last night. We can stay in tonight and do whatever you want.”

Geno gazes down at him like Sid’s offering him the Cup or something. He checks the hallway, then leans down and kisses Sid. Kris is polite enough to look away, but Marc smirks at his handiwork. Reluctantly, the joined pair parts and remembers the other two. Sid’s blushing when he asks, “So why did you want us to meet you out here?”

“Well . . . ,” Marc makes his own check of the hallway. “If PDA rules are currently suspended . . .”

He pulls Kris in, and Kris emits an embarrassing noise of surprise when Marc kisses him. Marc can’t help a small laugh against the d-man’s mouth, but he pulls back quickly, because it is a little weird for them to be kissing in front of their captain and alternate. Kris still looks surprised, but excitedly nervous as well. Marc grins, and Sid and Geno are gaping at them. Kris blushes, and Marc reaches over to take his hand. “Kris wanted to let you guys know that we’re together, too.”

“Marc,” Kris gasps, but he’s grinning slightly.

Marc grins back as he says, “Actually, he wanted us to be accepted, because he feels like our relationship is forbidden or something, and he won’t put out.”

Kris is blushing harder than ever, but he’s laughing just a little bit now. Marc forces himself to tear his eyes from Kris to check the reactions of the other two. Sid still looks a little flustered, but Geno’s grinning and stepping forward to pull Marc into a hug, then does the same to Kris. Then he’s looking back at Sid, and asking, “What you think, Sid? We accept them so Marc can sex Kris?”

Simultaneously, Kris covers his face from embarrassment, Marc falls to the floor where he’s laughing so hard, Sid is muttering something about not talking about sex in the hallway, and Geno is just grinning around at his work. When they’ve all recovered some ten minutes later, though, Kris is still an impressive shade of red, and Marc is still giggling slightly, Sid pulls captain face and says, “Yes, we accept your relationship, as long as it doesn’t interfere with either of your games, got it?”

Marc rolls his eyes, but nods. “Understood, captain.”

Kris nods. Then Geno steps forward and lays an enormous hand on either of their shoulders. “Be good to each other, yes?”

“Of course.”

“Absolutely.”

Marc offers to take them out for drinks to celebrate, and it’s actually Geno that declines, but he already has a handful of Sid’s ass, so Marc understands. They leave, and then Marc is pushing Kris up against the wall and kissing him breathless. When he pauses his assault, Kris grins, and breathes, “Let’s go home.”

Marc pulls him outside and they slide into Marc’s car. He keeps a hand on Kris’s thigh as he speeds to his apartment, running his fingertips up and down to tease the d-man. Kris’s breathing is ragged by the time Marc gets him in the elevator, and he just looks so wrecked, all Marc can do is push him up against the wall and kiss him rough and dirty. The elevator dings at Marc’s floor, and it takes all of his willpower to pull back, take Kris’s hand and drag him down the hall. The second the door is closed behind them, Marc pushes Kris up against it and attaches his mouth to Kris’s neck. Kris lets out a breathy little moan that Marc kinda wants to mock but also kinda wants to hear a hundred times a day for the rest of his life. Kris’s hands grasp at him, unsteady and shaking, but oh, so excited. Kris pushes off the door and into Marc, and then they’re stumbling down the hall, taking turns pushing each other up against the walls. Jackets are discarded quickly, followed by t-shirts a few steps later. Then it’s just hands roaming frantically over overheated skin, each trying to map every inch of the other. They finally make it to the living room, and Marc topples Kris over the back on the couch and follows quickly, only half-managing not to land on top of Kris. Kris grasps at Marc and pushes up into him, and fuck, neither of them are going to last much longer. Marc’s hands drift down and Kris tilts his head back, closes his eyes, and bucks against Marc’s hand without rhythm. Marc murmurs something even he couldn’t decipher and Kris goes as still as he can, though he’s still shaking as Marc unbuttons and unzips Kris’s jeans and pushes them down. Marc cups him through his boxers, and Kris shudders, barely staving off his orgasm. Then Marc’s pulling Kris’s boxers down and finally, finally getting a hand around Kris’s cock. Kris is shaking and muttering something. When Marc focuses on the words, he can hear Kris counting, each number gasped out. He fucks up into Marc’s grasp, and Marc can’t help but grind against his thigh.

“Twenty-eight,” Kris gasps. “Twenty . . . Nine.”

Then he’s shaking and coming hard across his stomach and Marc’s hand. Marc continues to stroke him through it until Kris goes boneless, twitching slightly when Marc’s touch becomes too much. Marc lets go to let Kris catch his breath but continues to push against his thigh. But then Kris is pushing him up, and Marc thinks his heart’s about to break, but the look in Kris’s eyes doesn’t read rejection, but desire and adoration. Marc barely registers Kris’s hands on his jeans until Kris pushes them and his boxers down out of the way. Then Kris’s hand is on his dick, and before Marc’s brain function can be wiped completely, he manages, “I don’t think I can make it to fifty-eight.”

Kris stares up at him, and he gets this mischievous glimmer in his eyes that can only spell trouble for Marc. “We‘ll see.”

Kris starts to stroke Marc agonizingly slowly, and stops completely when Marc tries to fuck into his grasp. Kris keeps count for him, breathing the numbers in sweet French against Marc’s ear. Marc’s pressing whispered pleas into Kris’s neck, spilling his own French ninety miles a minute. Marc feels like he’s about to explode, and the only thing keeping him grounded is Kris’s voice. His brain goes fuzzy, the only thing he can focus on being Kris’s hand and voice.

“Cinquante,” Kris breathes and starts to move his hand faster.

“Cinquante et un.”

Finally, he lets Marc buck into his grasp.

“Cinquante-deux.”

Marc can feel the heat tensing low in his belly.

“Cinquante-trois.”

Marc closes his eyes and presses his forehead into Kris’s shoulder.

“Cinquante-quatre.”

Marc gets his elbows underneath him and fucks harder into Kris hand.

“Cinquante-cinq.”

Kris starts to move with him, eurhythmic.

“Cinquante-six.”

Marc’s entire body tenses, but he holds on.

“Cinquate-sept.”

“Fuck, Kris.”

“Cinquante-huit.”

And finally Marc lets go. He comes hard onto Kris’s stomach, and Kris strokes him  
through it, drawing it out as much as he can. Every nerve in Marc’s body is tensed as he shakes apart. And then it’s over, and he feels like he will never be able to move again. Kris moves him around so they’re laying cuddled up together on the couch, and Marc is barely aware of Kris leaned in, sucking lightly at the skin just over his collarbone. Marc lays his chin on top of Kris’s head, and Kris hums contentedly. They lay together for a while, Kris’s mouth ghosting over what skin he can reach and Marc running his hands over Kris because he can. Marc is just dozing off when Kris nudges him. “We should go to bed.”

“I can’t move,” Marc mumbles into Kris’s hair.

He can feel Kris’s smile against his chest. “If we sleep here, you won’t be able to move tomorrow.”

“Hm . . . ,” Marc mumbles. “Guess that’s true. Let’s go.”

He pushes Kris in the floor playfully, and Kris pulls Marc down on top of himself. They laugh and kiss and finally, reluctantly pull each other upright. They stumble to the bedroom, pausing in the bathroom to clean up before making it to bed, sliding in and tangling around each other. Marc pulls Kris as close as he can and nuzzles against Kris’s neck, into his hair. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to just do this.”

Kris shivers against him, and Marc squeezes him tight. They fall asleep like that, wrapped so close around each other that it’s hard to tell whose limbs are whose. They wake the next morning, and Marc goes to b.s. around his kitchen while Kris wakes up. At the smell of coffee, Kris appears in the kitchen and starts to make sense of Marc’s mess, like he always does. They have breakfast, shower together, and go to morning skate. It’s optional, and there are only a few guys there. Of course Sid is, and of course he dragged Geno along. Geno grins at the sight of Marc and Kris together and skates over to talk to them. “How go?”

Marc glances at Kris who shrugs easily. “Well, we didn’t do it last night,” Marc says.

“What? Why not?”

“We were wore the fuck out,” Marc says. “We did, uh . . . ,” he makes a brief jack-off motion. “Each other.”

Geno laughs. “Good to know.”

Sid skates over and apologizes for Geno who grins and skates off. When he’s out of earshot, Sid asks, “How is everything?” It’s ridiculous. He’s basically asking the same question Geno just had, but coded so that no one else will know what they’re talking about.

“Pretty fucking awesome,” Marc grins, and Kris nods beside him.

Sid smiles and awkwardly claps Marc on the arm. “Good to hear.”

Then he skates off after Geno, and Marc and Kris share a laugh. Then they have a race around the rink but trip each other before they can make it all the way around. And it’s good. They’re buddies. They still pal around, but now there’s just an extra component to their relationship. It’s just been upgraded, advanced. So it goes like that for a few weeks; they hang out like friends, play like teammates, occasionally go out like a couple (keeping a low profile of course), and behind closed doors, kissing like lovers and jerking each other off like teenagers. But after about a month of nothing more, Marc is getting restless again. He hates to keep pushing Kris, but the d-man’s rate of progression is just below glacial, and Marc feels the constant desire always bubbling under his skin. There’s something else sitting just below the surface. Something bigger than wanting to fuck Kris into every surface in his apartment. Something deeper, more serious. He pushes it aside, the flutter of his heart when Kris is sprawled out on Marc’s couch in his stupid tight jeans, the way his mouth goes dry when Kris looks at him through his lashes, peering around that curtain of perfectly soft hair, the warmth in his fingertips when Kris pulls his toque, Marc’s toque, down over that perfect hair. He ignores all that in favor of imagining fucking Kris into his bed, into his couch, into the floor, into the shower wall, into the fucking refrigerator for all Marc cares, as long as it happens.

Or Kris fucking him into whatever surface he wanted.

The crease.

They have to bang there.

But that could potentially distract Marc during future games.

Somebody else’s crease then.

Kinky.

But not special in a way Marc is afraid to admit he wants.

“Marc? Marc, you in there, buddy?”

He looks up at Kris’s expectant face. “What?”

“Third house.”

“Second.”

“Nah. The second house was a dump.”

The couple takes the third house, and Kris opens his mouth to claim victory, but Marc hushes him before he can utter a sound by sticking his tongue in Kris’s mouth. Kris makes a small noise of surprise, but goes willingly, kissing Marc back. He doesn’t resist when Marc pushes him back on the couch. It’s not an uncommon occurrence anymore. He goes for Marc’s jeans pretty quick, but Marc stops him.

“Let me,” Marc whispers, reaching for Kris’s jeans.

Kris looks confused, but lets Marc kiss him and tilts his hips up to let Marc slip his jeans off. Marc starts to move down Kris’s body, pausing to lightly mark Kris’s chest. He looks up at the hot brown eyes gazing down at him, pupils blown.

“Is this okay?” he asks, moving down so his mouth is even with Kris’s bellybutton, which he can’t help but lean down to fuck his tongue into once. Kris shivers at the touch, but nods quickly. “You have to tell me if you want me to stop.”

“Why would I want you to- Oh, God,” Kris chokes out as Marc’s mouth finds the head of his cock through his boxers. His hips stutter, and Marc slides his hands there and squeezes. He hooks his fingertips under the waistband of Kris’s boxers and carefully tugs them down. Kris’s breath hisses out between his teeth, and Marc flicks his eyes up to Kris’s face. The d-man stares back, looking wrecked and incredibly turned on. Marc dips his head to hide his smile and takes the head between his lips. Kris bites back a whine, and when Marc looks up again, Kris has his teeth sunk into his bottom lip, almost to the point of drawing blood. Marc pulls off and holds Kris’s hips down when he tries to follow Marc’s mouth.

“Don’t hold back,” he says quietly. “Please. I wanna hear you.”

Kris gasps and nods, hips shaking under Marc’s steady hands, as if Marc is the only thing holding him to the earth. Marc smiles, reaches for Kris’s hand and brings it to his mouth to kiss his knuckles. He intertwines their fingers, resting the knot on Kris’s hip, and goes back to work. He swallows down as much as he can in one sweep, and Kris rewards his efforts with a low moan, still kind of quiet, but Kris is a quiet man. Marc eases back up slowly, dragging his tongue up the underside of Kris’s cock. Kris shudders as Marc starts back down, swallowing Kris down until he can feel Kris slipping down his throat. He pulls back to breathe and tongue at the underside of the head before plunging back down, making Kris gasp and moan louder. Fuck, it’s a beautiful sound. Marc continues, doing everything he can to make Kris keep making those noises. He sucks and swallows and works his tongue as much as he can, and it works. As Kris nears the edge, his sporadic gasps and moans increase and amplify along with tiny curses and quiet pleas. Marc reaches up to take Kris’s other hand and moves it to the back of his head. Kris gets the message and twists his fingers in Marc’s short curls, not pushing, just holding on. Marc flicks his tongue over the slit encouragingly.

“Marc, Marc, I’m gonna . . . ,” Kris gasps, pulling slightly at Marc’s hair.

Marc just works his throat and flicks his eyes up to meet Kris’s. And that’s it, Kris is coming, head thrown back with a moan that definitely isn’t quiet, hips stuttering beneath Marc’s hands. He squeezes Marc’s hand that he’s still holding as Marc swallows around him, taking everything Kris is giving. Then Kris slumps into the couch, and Marc releases him. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and grins. “Was that good?”

Kris stares at him in wonder. Then he shrugs. “It was alright.”

But he’s grinning, and his chest is still rising and falling sharply, body occasionally shivering with aftershock. Marc moves back up so they’re chest to chest again. “Can I kiss you?”

“Ew,” Kris says, but takes Marc’s face between his hands and kisses him soft and slow. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead on Marc’s shoulder and tries to catch his breath. “Do you want me to, um . . . ?”

“If you want to, and you’re ready,” Marc says. He’s hard as fuck and desperately wants to get off, if only to release the tension from his body, but he’s not going to push Kris.

“Can I . . . ?” Kris looks up at him, brown eyes bright. “Can I try?”

“Sure,” Marc agrees.

“What if I’m bad? I’ve never done it before,” Kris looks nervous.

“I hadn’t either before. Keep your teeth out of the way, and you’ll be fine,” Marc assures, patting Kris’s shoulder. He carefully leaves out the part about reading online and practicing on the shaft of his goalie stick.

“I was the first guy you’ve ever blown?”

Marc nods and Kris seems to glow at the news but he tries to suppress the smile. “I think . . . ,” he says slowly. “I think I want to try.”

Marc tries to suppress his giddiness that Kris is making progress. “Okay. How do you want to do this?”

“Can you . . . ?” Marc lets Kris move him around until he’s sitting on the edge of the middle cushion, feet planted on the floor, knees spread wide. Kris settles between them, and Marc almost comes from the sight alone. Kris flicks his eyes up to Marc’s, then quickly back down, a blush forming across his cheeks. “How do I . . . ?”

“You can use your hand,” Marc says.

Kris gets a hand around the base and looks only slightly less intimidated by the length. “Do I just . . . go for it?”

Marc shrugs and can’t help a crooked grin. “Do you need to be announced before you perform?” Marc teases. He puts on his best announcer’s voice, “And on his knees tonight, about to be wearing my jizz as a beard, Kristopher Letang.”

Kris slaps Marc’s thigh and rests his head against the inside of Marc’s knee as laughter shakes his body. “What the hell? I’m not going to be able to do this without laughing now.”

He looks up at Marc who turns soft eyes on him and runs his fingers oh, so gently into Kris’s perfect hair. Kris’s breath catches in his throat from the look on Marc’s face.

“Sorry.”

And then Kris is just going for it. He leans down and starts to take Marc in, and it’s so sudden that Marc can’t stop his hips from bucking up. He stills himself as quick as he can, but it’s too late, and Kris is choking and pulling back. He pulls off and gasps in a quick lungful of air, and Marc’s eyes go wide and apologies start spilling from his lips.

“Fuck, Kris, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I tried to stop, but . . .”

“Marc,” Kris silences him with a soft look. “I’m okay. Don’t freak.”

Marc swallows and nods.

“Now, sit still so I can do this.”

He lays his free arm across Marc’s hips and leans down again. He takes a deep breath and takes the head between his lips. His tongue darts out to flick experimentally at the slit and Marc’s hips are stuttering beneath Kris’s strong hold. Kris moves down slowly, not quite reaching his hand still curled at the base before he’s stopping, adjusting. He moves back up agonizingly slowly, and Marc feels like he’s about to shake apart. Kris works him with his hand some, but tries to do most of the work with his mouth, trying to find a good pace and doing as much as he can with his tongue.

“Is this okay?” Marc asks, pushing his hand slightly into Kris’s hair. “I won’t push or anything.”

Kris looks up at him with an affirmative look, nodding as much as he can with a dick in his mouth. Marc runs his fingers into Kris’s hair and just sifts through wave after wave of perfectly straight, impossibly soft hair.

“Kris,” he says as steadily as he can. “Kris, I’m about to come. You need to . . .”

But Kris just looks up at him through his eyelashes and swallows around the head, and Marc’s done. He tries for about half a second to somehow slow the force of his orgasm, but it’s no use, and he just lets go. Kris pulls off to let the last stripe paint the side of his mouth.

“You don’t have to . . .”

But Kris is already swallowing. And then his tongue is darting out to lick away what his mouth hadn’t caught. Marc’s dick gives a half-hearted twitch at that.

“That was incredible,” he says stupidly.

“Was it good?” Kris looks up at him hopefully.

Marc just stares at him, because seriously? “You’re kidding, right? That was the best blowjob I’ve had in my life.”

Kris blushes. “You’re just saying that. It was the first one I’ve ever given; how could it be the best one you’ve ever had?”

Because I love you.

The thought hits Marc like a punch to the gut. Of course, he can’t say that, so he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he hauls Kris up into his lap, cups his face between his hands, and kisses him deep and slow. Kris melts above him, going pliant, and Marc can’t help but clutch at Kris, holding him as close as possible, never wanting to let him go. And Kris goes with it, pressing himself into Marc, sharing heat and sweat.

“Stay the night,” Marc murmurs against Kris’s mouth.

Kris nods, takes Marc’s bottom lip between his teeth, and groans his agreement.

They’re left breathless, leaning heavily on each other. Reluctantly, Kris hauls himself to his feet and pulls Marc up with him. They stumble down the hall, keeping as much contact as possible, until they’re in Marc’s bedroom and can curl up in the bed, tangled around each other in a knot of limbs. Kris cuddles into Marc’s chest, and Marc lays his cheek on top of Kris’s head.

“G’night.”

“Bonne nuit.”

“I . . . like you.”

“I like you, too,” Kris says, looking up at him, brown eyes big and bright.

They stare at each other a moment, kiss softly, and then snuggle down to sleep. Long hours later, Marc wakes first and is content to lay in the warm quiet of the morning and just hold the man still in his arms. Kris wakes some time later and blinks confusedly up at Marc.

“Morning,” Marc smiles softly.

“You’re still here,” Kris mumbles, rubbing his face against Marc’s chest.

“Where else would I be?”

“In the kitchen. Making a mess for me to make something of,” Kris smiles.

“Thought it’d be a nice change of pace for you to not wake up to an empty bed,” Marc says softly. “But I can go start making a mess if you want me to.”

Kris doesn’t say anything, but clutches Marc against him, and Marc settles down into the touch.

“We have to be at practice in a couple hours,” Marc says eventually.

Kris groans and shakes his head against Marc’s chest like he can deny the inevitable. Eventually, they reluctantly slide out of bed and stumble into the shower together. They take each other’s morning hardness into their hands, and come apart against each other. When the hot water starts to go, they get out and wrap up in an oversized towel. They each pull on a pair of Marc’s boxers and make their way to the kitchen. Marc puts on coffee while Kris starts to make waffles, yawning. Marc grasps Kris’s hips briefly before moving to the breakfast nook to watch him. Kris cooks, and then they move to the living room for an episode of House Hunters. Finally, they get dressed, gather their equipment bags, and go downstairs to Marc’s car. Marc takes the long way, and they arrive at the arena at the same time as Sid and Geno. The Russian grins knowingly.

“Last night, yes?”

Marc grins. “Nah, man.”

“Still no?” Geno asks disbelievingly.

Marc shakes his head. Geno’s been asking since Marc and Kris came out to him and Sid.

“What you do wrong, Flower?”

“I’m being a good boyfriend and waiting until he’s ready.”

“Boyfriend?” Kris echoes behind him.

Marc turns to face him. “Well . . . Yeah. Right?”

Kris frowns. “It’s a little weird.”

“Well . . . We’re a couple, right?”

Kris looks uncomfortable, and Marc gets a little angry. After such an intimate night before and morning after, Marc can’t believe Kris is trying to deny what they have.

“You can’t be serious,” he says, agitation mounting. “We’ve been going out for months. We’ve gone on actual dates. Do you think we’re just fuckbuddies or something? Newsflash, Kris: fuckbuddies are actually supposed to fuck which we haven’t, because I’ve been waiting for you for months, Kris, months, for you to be ready. So what the hell are we?”

Kris stares at him like a deer in the headlights, and then bolts, slinging his bag over his shoulder and all but running to the back entrance of the arena. Marc turns to the other two.

“What the fuck just happened?”

But they just shake their heads, looking stunned.

Practice is terrible, both of them teeming with anger and taking dirty shots at each other. Kris aims at Marc’s head, Marc aims at Kris’s dick, and they both shoot aimlessly at Sid when he tries to talk to them. This goes on for about a week. Aside from childishly shooting pucks at each other in practice, their game doesn’t suffer, because hockey is instinct, and the world would have to be ending for that to change. The guys are starting to notice, though they don’t say anything. Marc’s angry. He seethes, but he doesn’t seem to realize that Kris isn’t angry. Aside from being in ‘crush the opposition’ mentality during games, Kris mostly just looks hurt and confused. Sid tries to talk to him, and Geno tries to talk to Marc, but neither of them will listen. One day, after practice, Sid stops Kris from retreating to the locker room.

“Kris, we need to work on a few of your drills.”

Kris cringes. “Tomorrow, Sid.”

“As your captain, I am telling you to stay out here and correct your plays.”

“That’s fucking bullshit,” Kris states flatly.

“It is, but you need to talk about this.”

“To you?”

“Well, you’re not talking to Marc. Geno should be ambushing him in the locker room as we speak.”

Kris rolls his eyes and groans.

“You two need to work this out.”

“We’re fine,” Kris snaps and immediately regrets it.

“That,” Sid says. “Is fucking bullshit.”

*********

“Flower!” Geno exclaims, too cheerily as he sidles up next to the tender. “We go out to bar tonight.”

Marc sighs. “I don’t think so, Geno.”

“Was not question, Marc.”

Marc turns to him. “I’d really rather stay in tonight, okay?”

“No,” Geno says firmly. “We go out, drink, talk. It be fun.”

“Somehow, I really doubt that,” Marc says.

“You need get out. Stop moping. Figure things out, yes?”

“Everything is fine,” Marc insists and immediately regrets it.

“Is not, Marc,” Geno says. “You need fix things with Kris.”

“By going out to a bar with you?”

Geno shrugs. “Sid idea. You not talk to each other, maybe you talk to us.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Marc snaps.

“So we go out and drink. Have good time.”

Marc’s still reluctant, knowing Geno will be able to get him to talk after a few drinks. But he doesn’t really have a choice; Geno isn’t going to let him just go home to mope on the couch. He consents and follows Geno outside, stows his bag in the back, and slides into the passenger seat. He leans forward to start dialing through the radio, but Geno slaps his hand away and turns the radio off.

“Kris would let me play with the radio,” Marc grumbles, crossing his arms.

*********

Kris rockets another puck at Sid.

“You’re not even aiming at the net,” Sid protests, ducking.

Of course he still wants to run drills through Kris’s side of the intervention.

Kris turns, lobs a puck up, and swings at it, knocking it over his head and hitting the back bar of the net perfectly. He turns back around to see Sid staring, stunned.

“Don’t have to.”

Sid skates up to him. “Locker room should be cleared out. Let’s go talk in there.”

Kris scowls but follows. Once there, Kris begins pulling his pads off roughly. Sid lets him, removing his own pads more carefully. Finally they’re sitting together on the bench in their track pants and undershirts, Sid waiting for Kris to start talking, which he doesn’t.

Sid makes a face. “Kris, I’m not good at this. Just . . . What’s up, man?”

“I want to go home and sit on my couch with a six-pack.”

Sid huffs. “Later. You need to talk about this, Kris.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Kris snaps.

“Listen,” Sid pulls captain voice, and Kris rolls his eyes, but Sid goes on. “In about thirty seconds you and Marc went from being best friends to not speaking to each other, and you haven’t spoken to each other in a week. There’s definitely something there that needs to be worked out.”

Kris scowls at his sneakers. “Our game is just fine, so what do you care?” It’s a low blow, but Kris doesn’t care right now.

“You are my teammates,” Sid says slowly. “But you guys are also my friends.”

Kris grimaces.

“Besides, I’m tired at having pucks shot at my head when I try to talk to you. And if you keep shooting at each other, we’re going to end up with an injury we can’t afford.”

Kris rolls his eyes.

“But mostly, you guys are unhappy, and that’s never good for anybody.”

“Who are we hurting?” Kris prompts.

“Each other,” Sid says quietly. “The rest of the guys know something’s up, and it’s causing unrest.”

“This has nothing to do with them,” Kris snaps again.

“Maybe not,” Sid shrugs. “But it’s causing ripples. And you really are hurting each other. That shows so clearly.”

“I’m fine, and Marc seems to be doing just fine. We’re fine.”

“Repeating ‘fine’ won’t make it fine,” Sid says.

Kris doesn’t say anything, just stares at his hands twisting in his lap.

“So what’s up, man?”

*********

“What the fuck did I do?” Marc slurs, waving his beer at Geno.

“What did you do?” Geno says back, voice smooth even though he’s had as many as Marc. It makes Marc grimace.

“Nothing,” Marc says, slumping on the table. He sits back up and leans on his elbows, taking a long swallow of his beer. “I waited. I waited so long. And I thought . . .”

“Thought what?” Geno asks.

“I mean, we were a couple, right? I mean, he was at my house all the fucking time. We went out for coffee and dinner and, like, dates regularly. And the sex. As unpenetrative as it was,” Marc gives a short ironic laugh. “Is that even a word? But I waited for him, y’know? God, he’s so slow. We’d do the same thing for a month before I had to ask if we could take it to the next level. And the thing is,” Mar slurs, waving his bottle again. “He always went along with it. I’d ask, and he’d say okay, and we’d do it. He never . . . hesitated. He never pushed back, never questioned. But when I say we’re a couple . . . He runs. What the fuck is up with that?” he asks the table, laying his forehead on it again. It’s sticky and gross, but he doesn’t care right now.

Geno lays a hand on his shoulder to get him to look up again. Marc does, wincing and rubbing at the stickiness on his forehead. “You always lead?”

Marc shrugs. “We’re pretty even.”

Geno shakes his head. “No, I mean, you always say when to keep going?”

Marc thinks back on it. “Sexually, yeah.”

“Other times?”

Marc thinks. “I’m pretty sure he proposed our first date,” he furrows his brow, trying to remember. “Look, this all started because he was always stealing my toques.”

“Maybe that it,” Geno says.

“Maybe what’s it?” Marc asks, confused.

“You say he move slow, yes? Maybe you need let him come to you.”

Marc groans. “What the fuck do you mean, you fucking Russian?”

“You always lead progress. Maybe let him do for once. He move slow for whatever reason. Maybe you try wait for him to say we are this or we do this.”

Marc stares at him. “I fucking have been. I had to wait a fucking month before he would kiss me more than twice. Then I had to wait another month before he’d let me touch his dick. And last week, consequently about a month later, only then did he let me blow him.”

“But every time you ask for?”

“Well, yeah. You don’t understand, Geno. I’ve wanted to fuck him and for him to fuck me since the first time I saw him in one of my toques.”

Geno raises his eyebrows with an amused smile. “I don’t understand? First time I kiss Sid, have to wait month before it happen again. Was at beginning of season and had to wait to after Christmas break before he let me put tongue in his mouth. Had to wait to next season to get past kissing.”

Marc gapes at him. “How the fuck did you wait that long?”

Geno shrugs. “I love him. Know he crazy, was prepare to wait.”

“Are you guys even fucking yet?”

Geno grins. “Oh, yes.”

Marc covers his face and groans. “Didn’t need to know!”

“Should not have ask,” Geno says.

“Fair,” Marc shrugs.

“Listen, Marc. Sid take long time to loosen up, but he did, and now we are good. Kris may take long time, but he come around, yes? Then be no stop you,” Geno grins, nudging Marc’s elbow across the table.

“I don’t know if I have that kind of patience,” Marc says, but his shoulders bob with a small laugh, because he knows, that he would wait forever for Kris.

“Want to know secret to wait?” Geno says, leaning across the table conspiratorially.

Marc nods.

Geno looks left and right to make sure no one’s looking, before looking right at Marc and making a brief jack-off motion. Marc drops his head to the table and groans, but he’s laughing, and for the first time in a week, he feels good. He’s pretty sure when he looks up again, his face is red. “That’s your big secret, the trick to waiting years for a sexually challenged man?”

“Listen, it work. You think about him, then have . . . fantasy, yes? When he finally get comfortable, you ask, can do this? Keep things exciting in bedroom.”

Marc’s hit by a wave of curiosity, and before he can think better of it, he blurts. “What kind of wild shit have you gotten Sid into?”

Geno smirks. “What haven’t got Sid into? You know hockey can be very kinky?”

Marc’s too drunk and happy to be embarrassed anymore so he just throws his head back and laughs. When he’s regained his composure, he polishes off his beer, and Geno starts talking again.

“You talk to Kris, yes? Figure out where both at, meet in middle.”

“Yeah,” Marc says softly. “Yeah, I’m going to.”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, but before he can even unlock it, Geno reaches over and swipes it out of his grasp. “Not now, crazy fucker. You talk to him when sober. I give this back tomorrow at practice.”

He stuffs the phone in his pocket, and Marc shrugs, because it’s probably is for the best. They have a few more drinks, comparing their respective men, before finally hauling themselves out of the bar, getting in separate cabs, and going home, but not before Geno makes Marc promise to talk to Kris. Marc stumbles into his apartment, barely makes it to the bedroom, strips, and passes out.

*********

“So what’s up, man?”

“I’m a defenseman,” Kris grumbles.

“Yeah . . . ?” Sid says slowly. “You’re a damn good defenseman, but that’s not what we’re talking about here.”

“You don’t get it,” Kris snaps. “I’m a defenseman. I think like a defenseman. Not just on the ice.”

Vague understanding flickers across Sid’s face. “You’re afraid to let him in.”

Kris nods. “Since the first time I stepped skate onto the ice, hockey has been everything. Being a defenseman, it’s always been, keep them out of your zone, don’t let anyone in. I guess that has spilled over.”

“Hockey players don’t think about anything the same way other people do,” Sid says quietly.

“We don’t,” Kris agrees, standing. “We relate everything to hockey, including relationships. Marc is the opponent, my zone is our relationship, and the net . . .” He breaks off, not wanting to admit what the net represents.

Sid wisely does not supply. “Marc isn’t your opponent, Kris. He’s your teammate.”

“I know that, but . . .”

“Not just on the ice, Kris,” Sid cuts him off. “In your relationship, too.”

He waits for Kris to nod before continuing. “Just like on the ice, you have to work together with your teammate. You cannot be a one-man team, Kris. It’s okay to let Marc into your zone.” He shrugs. “Maybe it’s okay to let him take his usual place in the crease. Defend and claim your net as his own to protect and cherish as much as he does the nets on the actual ice.” He gives a small laugh. “Goalies and their weird attachment to their nets.”

Kris is freaking out inside, but he smiles fondly. He’s overwhelmed, but remembering the look Marc gets when he’s defending his net brings a smile to his face. He realizes, it’s the same look Marc gets when looking at Kris. And that’s huge, because they are hockey players, and hockey comes first, and if Marc gets the same look when he’s in net and when he’s with Kris . . . Well, that must make Kris pretty fucking special.

“I think he already has,” he murmurs.

Sid smiles. “You should tell him that sometime.”

“Yeah,” Kris says. “Yeah, I’m going to.”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, but Sid says. “I wouldn’t now. I mean, he went to the bar with Geno. He probably doesn’t know his own name right now.”

“That’s true,” Kris says, tucking his phone back into his pocket. But he doesn’t know if he can wait. Marc will want to remember it, though, so Kris owes him that at least. Besides, Marc has waited for him for so long, so many times. Now, it’s his turn. “I’ll go over tomorrow.”

“Nurse him out of his hangover?” Sid smiles.

“Yeah,” Kris is smiling dopily now, and he can’t help it.

Sid stands and stretches a bit. “Glad that got sorted out. See you at practice tomorrow.”

With that, they leave. Kris drives to his apartment, mills around for about an hour, and finally tries to go to bed, but he can’t sleep, too excited about the day to follow.

*********

Marc wakes the next afternoon to the smell of coffee barely penetrating the haze of his hangover. He groans as his head pounds, but then he realizes what the smell of coffee must mean. Kris is here. He grins, jumps out of bed, and runs to the kitchen. Kris is there, standing with his back to Marc, flipping pancakes at the stove. Marc walks up behind him and grabs two handfuls of Kris’s ass. Kris is grinning as he turns to swat at Marc with a spatula. Marc just grins back and kisses him.

“How’s your hangover?” Kris asks.

“Awful,” Marc can’t stop grinning. “Better since you’re here.”

Kris smiles. “Go put some pants on; breakfast is almost done.”

Marc does so, and when he comes back, Kris is setting out an extravagant breakfast. He brandishes the spatula at Marc again. “Don’t get used to this.” But he’s still grinning. They fix their plates and move to the living room, laughing to find Marc’s tv still turned to HGTV. House Hunters International is on, and they settle in to watch it, shoulders pressed together. After breakfast, Kris shoos Marc to the shower, declining his offer to join him. Kris is sitting on the edge of the bed when Marc comes back into the bedroom, and the tendy can’t help but tackle Kris back onto the bed and kiss him with puppy-like enthusiasm.

“Fucker, you’re getting me wet,” Kris protests, shoving half-heartedly at Marc’s shoulder.

Marc uses all his willpower to pull himself off of Kris and pull on the same sweatpants he’d worn earlier. Then he sits down beside Kris on the bed.

“So . . . We should talk,” Kris says.

“Or,” Marc drawls, leaning over and nuzzling at Kris’s neck. “We could not.”

“Marc,” Kris reprimands gently. “We need to talk.”

“Okay,” Marc relents, sitting back.

“I’m sorry,” Kris starts. “For last week.”

“I’m sorry I went off on you,” Marc adds. “And I’ll stop being so bossy in our relationship. Kris, I will wait for you as long as you need me to and make sure we’re always on the same page.”

“And I’ll stop fighting you in our relationship. We’re together in this,” Kris says softly, taking Marc’s hand and interlocking their fingers.

Marc smiles almost shyly. “So are we good?”

Kris grins back. “More than good.”

And they seal the conversation with a kiss.

Before it can get too heated, though, Kris’s phone chirps.

“We have to go to practice,” Kris says against Marc’s insistent mouth.

“Or,” Marc kisses him. “We could not.”

Kris has to break away to laugh at that. They share a few more lingering kisses before dragging themselves off the bed. Marc gets dressed, and they head downstairs. Kris drives them to the rink, Marc retrieves his bag from Geno’s car, and they go inside. Practice is good, both of them working together and absolutely on fire. Sid and Geno express their praise and happiness that Marc and Kris have worked things out. The newly reunited pair leaves quickly, speeding back to Marc’s apartment. They race each other into the building and up the stairs so they don’t get caught making out in the elevator. Once Marc’s apartment door is closed behind them, Marc shoves Kris up against it and claims Kris’s mouth with his own. It’s hot and dirty as their hands roam across each other, desperate to touch as much as they can. Kris eventually pushes against Marc and they make their way to the bedroom, mouths disconnecting only once so they could pull each other’s shirts over their heads. They’re naked before they even get to the bed, Kris pushing Marc down onto it and following quickly. They moan into each other’s mouths as their bodies are pressed together fully.

“Kris,” Marc gasps out when the d-man moves down to worry a mark into the tendy’s neck. “Kris, I want you to fuck me. . . . I-if that’s okay.”

Kris groans, but stops, dropping his forehead to Marc’s shoulder. Then he looks up at Marc, brown eyes burning dark. “You have no idea how bad I want to.”

Marc can feel his world sinking.

“But we have a game tomorrow.”

Marc swears a French rainbow. He cuts off abruptly when Kris takes their dicks in his hand and starts to jerk them off together, fast and rough. They come together, but their bodies are still thrumming with unfulfilled desire. They collapse side by side to catch their breath.

“After the game, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Marc holds up his hand, pinkie extended. Kris links his pinkie with Marc’s, and they laugh at the childish act of promise. Then they get up and meander into the kitchen. Marc starts fixing random things, Kris watching him, already planning on what he can make with the mess Marc is putting together. Eventually, the d-man elbows the tendy out of the way and takes over. Marc moves to his usual perch at the breakfast nook to watch. Kris plates their dinner and starts towards the living room, but Marc is still, staring at him in wonder.

“Thank you,” Marc says softly.

“Dude, it’s just dinner. C’mon,” Kris says.

“Not just for dinner,” Marc amends. “Thank you for bringing order to my life. Every time I start making a mess in here, you come along and make something awesome out of it. Hell, without you, I’d still be ordering out every night.”

Kris rolls his eyes, but smiles. “God, we’ve domesticated each other.”

They share a laugh and then go into the living room to eat, sitting on opposite sides of the couch so they can tangle their legs together. After they finish eating, they do the dishes together, then settle back on the couch to cuddle their way through a few episodes of Love It Or List It. Finally, they go back to the bedroom, curl around each other, and fall asleep. The next morning, Kris doesn’t disturb Marc’s routines aside from fixing them breakfast. They go to morning practice, then back to Marc’s apartment for their pre-game nap. Then it’s back to the rink to get ready for the game.

It just happens that they are playing the Flyers, and everyone is thrumming with the excitement of the rivalry, the air in the locker room nearly electric. The game is intense, scoreless through two, then, with five thirty-six left in the third, Kris rockets one home to put the Pens up one to nothing. With a minute and a half left, the Flyers pull their goalie. Someone clears the puck from their end, Kris redirects it, and it comes straight to Marc. He holds it, waits for everyone to skate to his end before sending the puck flying, whacking it as hard as he can. Only one Flyer has the sense to go after it, but everyone else just watches in wonder as the puck sails through the air like a bullet and hits the back bar perfectly. The ring of it echoes through the rink. Kris is the first to start yelling and the first to pull Marc into as tight a hug as he can through their pads. The game ends like that, a two nothing shutout win with goals from Kris and Marc. Kris sits beside the tendy in the locker room after the media people have cleared out, still grinning widely.

“When you had that dream about us both scoring in a game against the Flyers,” Marc says softly, leaning close. “Was it anything like that?”

Kris looks confused for a moment, then grins again. “Not exactly.”

“Maybe we could try to enact it a little more accurately tonight?” Marc suggests, voice low.

Kris swallows visibly and nods. “Yes, please.”

They leave quickly, Marc pausing to throw one of Kuni’s gloves at Geno’s head where the Russian is laughing at them on the other side of the locker room. Then it’s out the door, and the way back to Marc’s apartment is a lust-hazed blur, but then it is on. Kris has Marc pushed up against the door this time, kissing hungrily. They clutch at each other, somehow more desperate than the night before. Jackets are pushed off shoulders and t-shirts rucked up, but they refuse to release each other to get them off properly just yet. Kris’s hands dive for the button of Marc’s jeans, but the tendy stops him, laying his hands over the d-man’s.

“Can we take this to the bedroom, Kris?” he breathes, pulling Kris’s shirt over his head.

“Might be a good idea,” Kris gasps out, returning the favor.

Marc smiles against Kris’s mouth as he guides Kris backwards gently. The hallway is an obstacle; every few steps, they’re stopping for one to push the other up against the wall. They’re almost to the door of Marc’s bedroom, and Marc has Kris backed into the wall with a muscular thigh between Kris’s as he bites and sucks a mark into Kris’s neck. Kris grinds against his leg desperately, but when his thrusts become erratic, Marc has to force himself to step back away from Kris, taking his hands in his own.

“Not yet, Kris,” he whispers, soft voice contrasting with Kris’s ragged breathing. “Almost there. C’mon.”

With that, he pulls the other man into the bedroom, guides him to the bed, and pushes him down on it. He flips the button on Kris’s jeans open and leans down to tug the zipper down with his teeth. Kris whimpers above him, and Marc knicks a soft bite to Kris’s hip, right over the scar there that he’s wanted to get his mouth on for so long. He hooks his fingers in Kris’s jeans and tugs them down and off. Then he leans down to mouth at Kris’s cock through his boxers, sucking at the wet spot already forming at the head. Kris moans and trembles beneath him. Marc makes his way back up Kris’s body, trailing a hot line with his mouth. He kisses Kris chastely once, twice, before leaning up to look him in the eye. Marc’s breath catches at the sight, Kris’s usually dark eyes nearly blackened by pupils blown with desire.

“Are you ready to do this?” He holds his breath.

Kris looks at him steadily. “Fuck me, Marc.”

Marc certainly doesn’t need anymore urging, and he dives for the nightstand, yanking the top drawer open. He tosses the bottle of lube back, but continues to rummage frantically. Kris’s hand on his arm sends a jolt through his body, his world sinking at the thought that they might not get to do this because . . .

“Marc, what the fuck are you looking for?” Kris’s voice is rough already.

“I don’t have any fucking condoms,” Marc says.

And Kris . . . Laughs at him? He pulls back to look confusedly at the d-man who just grasps his arms reassuringly.

“Marc, every time we turn around, someone’s demanding we take a fucking blood test. We’re both clean, okay? It doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you,” he says softly.

Marc stares at him. “You’re sure?”

“This is all I’ve been able to think about since yesterday. Now fuck me, or I swear, I will cut your fucking dick off with a dull skate blade,” Kris threatens.

Marc grabs his dick instinctively as if to protect it from such a fate, and Kris laughs at him again. Marc can’t help a crooked smile. It’s silly, but they’re silly together; it only makes sense that their shared humor would spill over into the bedroom. Marc pops the cap of the lube, and Kris stills after a brief tremble steals through him. Marc dribbles a bit of lube onto his fingers, and Kris stares, spreading his legs almost absently. Marc shudders at that and lowers his hand between Kris’s thighs, lower, and braces his other hand on Kris’s knee, thumb brushing soothingly.

“Do it,” Kris breathes, and Marc pushes just his fingertip in. Kris gasps and pushes down slightly. Marc slips in to the first knuckle. “You good?”

“Keep going,” Kris pleads. “Please.”

Marc carefully slips his finger in all the way. Kris is hot and tight around him.

“Fuck, your fingers are long,” Kris chokes out.

Marc’s mouth tips up on one side. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” And he crooks his finger, hitting the bundle of nerves that makes Kris arch off the bed.

“Fuck, Marc. Do that again.”

Marc complies, delighting in the way Kris’s cock twitches against his stomach, the unrestrained moan that spills from his lips.

“Think you can take another?”

Kris shifts. “Yeah.”

Marc removes his finger, dribbles a little more lube on his fingers because he’d rather have too much than not enough, wants this to be good for Kris. Kris’s whimper at the loss is cut off abruptly when Marc pushes back in with two fingers to the last knuckle. Kris groans and grasps at the sheets. His knee trembles under Marc’s other hand, so Marc squeezes and leans down to lay a soft kiss on the heated skin.

“Look so good, Kris.”

Kris huffs a strained laugh. “That’s so cheesy, Marc.”

Marc smiles fondly. “It’s true, though.”

Kris groans and shifts his hips. “Move, fucker.”

Marc scissors his fingers inside Kris, carefully working him open. Kris matches his rhythm, eyes closed, brow furrowed, and mouth open and wet. Finally, Marc thinks he’s ready and adds a third finger. Kris’s hips stutter, and he moans brokenly, the pleasure obviously overpowering the discomfort. Marc can only watch as Kris falls apart beneath him. He’s dreamed of this for so long, and finally, finally, it’s happening.

“Marc, Marc,” Kris gasps out. “I’m ready. Just . . . Please, just do it.”

Marc crooks his fingers to hit Kris’s prostate one last time before removing his fingers.

“You fucker,” Kris mutters, hips canting against nothing.

Marc huffs a small laugh as he slicks himself up. He aligns himself with the head of his cock just barely pressing against Kris’s entrance, not enough to push in. Kris stills and turns dark eyes to meet Marc’s equally dark ones. Marc carefully nudges Kris’s knee up to give himself better leverage.

“Are you okay?” he whispers.

Kris nods. “Yeah.”

“Are you ready?”

Kris nods again, looking desperate. “Yes. Marc, please.”

Marc glances down and pushes just the head in. Then he looks back up at Kris who is clutching the pillow above his head, eyes screwed shut.

“You good?”

“Marc, move.” The command is weakened by the breathiness of his voice.

Carefully, Marc pushes in slowly but doesn’t stop until his hips are resting against Kris’s. He strokes Kris’s shin with one hand to get him to relax, the other planted by Kris’s side, keeping himself up. Gradually, he feels Kris relax around him until his body is pliant and open. Kris pushes down on Marc, and Marc takes his cue to move, sliding back as slowly as he had in. Kris exhales and the discomfort slowly drains from his face. Marc stops with just the head still in Kris, then pushes in again, a little faster. Kris moves to meet him, and Marc doesn’t stop, tilting his hips back out and then in again, a little harder. Kris thrusts to meet him again, a quiet moan escaping on an exhale. Marc starts to build a steady rhythm, picking up pace as Kris moves with him easily, letting him know it’s okay, and it feels good. Kris wraps his leg around Marc’s waist, urging him in deeper, and that is just awesome. Marc snaps his hips, and Kris’s stutter, and he cries out as a wave of pleasure overtakes him. His eyes snap open to meet Marc’s, smiling crookedly down at him. Marc hits that spot again, delighting in the unrestrained moan that erupts from somewhere deep in Kris’s chest. He feels Kris’s untouched cock twitch between them, and wedges a hand in to wrap around him, start to pump him in time with his thrusts, as he continues to assault Kris’s prostate. Kris trembles beneath him, unintelligible gasps and moans tumbling from his lips. Marc leans down to cover Kris’s mouth with his own, swallowing those sweet, sweet sounds. Kris whines in his throat and comes between them, cock jerking in Marc’s grasp as he stripes both their stomachs. Marc strokes him through it and then stills as his own orgasm tears through him at the constriction of the already tight heat around his own cock. He empties into Kris, and narrowly avoids collapsing on top of him, managing to fall so he’s only laying half on top of his lover. Then, the only sound in the room is their ragged breathing. Eventually, Kris pushes half-heartedly at Marc’s shoulder. Marc shifts up to kiss Kris to distract him from the discomfort as he pulls out. He lays down again beside Kris, and Kris turns so he’s facing Marc. Their hands come together between them, and they smile shyly at each other.

“Are you okay?” Marc whispers.

Kris nods, nudging forward to kiss Marc once. “That was . . . Incredible.”

Marc smiles and pulls the d-man against his body, cuddling him close. Kris curls into him, and Marc kisses the top of his head. They lay like that for a while, until Marc whines about being hungry. Kris laughs at him, but groans as the stickiness between them is ripped apart when they pull away from each other to get out of bed. Marc pulls him into the bathroom where they clean each other up before each pulling on a pair of Marc’s sweats and moving to the kitchen. Kris insists it’s Marc’s turn to fix dinner, and is surprised when Marc actually goes into the kitchen and opens a drawer. But Marc just pulls a phonebook out of it and grins, skimming through the food delivery section. He orders pizza, and they pile up on the couch to watch HGTV as they eat.

“That house,” Kris waves his slice of pizza at the first house on their second episode of House Hunters. “Is fucking gorgeous.”

Marc nods. “We’ll get us a house like that. Out on the water. With a huge yard so you can get a husky.”

Kris grins. “Yeah?”

Marc grins back. “Just the two of us.”

Kris is practically wriggling with happiness, and he dives forward to kiss Marc. Marc is taken by surprise, but kisses back easily. Kris cuddles up against him through another episode, but then starts getting restless. At the end of the episode, he stands and tugs Marc’s hand, trying to pull him off the couch.

“C’mon, my turn.”

Marc pretends to mull it over. “I don’t know. I could go for another few slices of pizza,” he says, eyeing the half of a pizza still sitting in the box.

“You’re kidding, right?” Kris says, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Marc grins up at him. “Yeah.”

“Then, come on,” Kris whines, pulling Marc’s hand again. Marc allows himself to be hauled upright and dragged back to the bedroom. Kris pushes him down on the bed and scrambles atop him, overeager. Marc catches Kris by the shoulders to keep him from crushing the tendy when Kris loses his balance and tips forward.

“Calm down, okay? I’m not going anywhere,” he smiles.

“I’m excited,” Kris grins and wiggles his butt like a fucking dog wagging its tail. Marc bursts out laughing at him, and reaches down to swat Kris’s ass. Kris’s knees give out at that, and his hips grind down against Marc’s. A choked moan interrupts Marc’s laughter, and Kris makes a noise of pure desire and leans down to capture Marc’s mouth in a heated kiss. They rut against each other for a bit, but suddenly, Kris’s hard body disappears from against Marc’s as he moves down to pull Marc’s sweats off. Marc whines at the loss of contact, but it’s abruptly choked off into a moan when Kris gets his mouth on Marc’s cock. He sucks at the head once before moving down . . . and down . . . until he reaches the soft curls at the base. Then he just fucking pulls off and grins, looking proud of himself.

“I practiced,” he says, and that has Marc canting his hips up desperately, and he wants to ask with what, but he doesn’t have that kind of brain function at the moment.

“So are you ready?” Kris asks cheekily.

“You’re a little shit, y’know that?” Marc gets out, but his fond smile is in place, though marked with desire.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Kris says and reaches for the lube bottle sitting on the nightstand. Marc wants to swat at his ass again, but he can’t move as he watches Kris’s fingers close around the bottle as he settles at Marc’s feet. He pushes Marc’s legs apart and moves up so he’s nestled between the tendy’s thighs. He pops the cap, and a shudder runs through Marc, because there is just something about that sound. He watches as Kris carefully dribbles some onto his fingers and rubs them together. He lowers his hand out of Marc’s sight, but Marc can feel his fingertip right there. Marc’s eyes snap up to meet Kris’s who is now looking at him almost nervously, biting his lip, question in his eyes.

“I’m okay. Just go for it,” Marc assures.

Kris nods and pushes one finger in to the last knuckle. There’s a sharp sting at the intrusion, but Marc’s breath hisses through his teeth, and he relaxes on the exhale, and it fades. And then it just feels . . . weird to have Kris inside him. Weird, but good. He pushes down, and Kris starts to work his finger back and forth, slow at first, then building a rhythm. Marc moves with him minutely, and it’s good, but then Kris stops.

“Can I . . . ?” he starts, looking nervous. “Two?”

Marc huffs out a laugh that is embarrassingly breathy and nods. “Yeah. Do it.”

And Kris does, slipping in slow. Marc moves with him immediately, because he really wants Kris’s dick in him as soon as possible. Kris stretches him, works him up to three fingers. Marc’s lost in the rhythm, until Kris stops, hesitates, and crooks his fingers. Marc arches off the bed, something just short of a scream tearing from his throat. He has to clamp a hand around the base of his cock to keep from coming right then. When he comes back to earth, Kris is staring at him like a deer in the headlights.

“Are you okay?” he asks, quietly.

And Marc just laughs. Kris tries to scowl, but can’t suppress his smile. He crooks his fingers again, and Marc’s laughter is cut off by the dirtiest moan Kris has ever heard, and he really just needs to hear that again. Marc meets his eyes, burning brown meeting burning brown.

“Are you ready?” Kris asks lowly, his voice rough with desire.

“Yes,” is all Marc can manage.

Kris nods once and pulls his fingers out. Marc whines at the loss. Kris strokes his thigh and sits back to lube himself up. He makes sure he’s good and lubed up, wanting this to be good for Marc. Marc starts to make little broken noises in his throat, and when Kris looks up, he sees Marc watching him intently with a look of pure want gracing his features. Not wanting to keep Marc waiting, Kris plants a hand on his thigh, partly just to be touching Marc and partly to have something to hold on to. He lines himself up carefully, and he’s right there, but he looks up at Marc again.

“Are you ready?”

“Yeah, Kris. C’mon.”

“Are you sure --”

“Yes.”

Kris nods again. “Okay,” he says, licking his lips once.

He starts to push as gently as he can, but he’s not going anywhere.

“Marc --”

“Kris, you’ve gotta push. You’re not going to break me. I promise it’s okay.”

So Kris pushes a little harder, and the head slips in. Marc’s breath catches, and Kris stills, looking up at Marc. His eyes never leaving Kris’s, Marc wraps a leg around Kris’s hips and pulls him in slow and deep. Once Kris is buried to the hilt, he collapses forward, barely managing to catch himself before he crushes Marc. Marc’s breath leaves him with an indistinct noise, and for a moment Kris is worried, until Marc pulls him the rest of the way down so they’re chest to chest.

“You good?” Kris breathes.

Marc nods, brow scrunching. “Just . . . Give me a minute.”

“You okay?”

Marc smiles and meets Kris’s eyes. “Adjusting. Not used to having a dick in my ass.”

Kris swats Marc’s thigh, and Marc huffs a breathy laugh. God, they can’t even be serious during sex. But it’s good. Because they still get along as friends, even when they’re being this intimate. A phrase springs to Kris’s mind, but he swallows it down, because now is not the time for that. Marc shifts beneath him, pushing down.

“Okay, move,” he says.

“Bossy,” Kris says, but tilts his hips back, sliding partway out, then pushing back in.

“Good?”

“Kris, sweetie, you’re running the show on this one.”

“I just want to make sure this is good for you.”

Marc’s hand finds Kris’s on the mattress, and he tangles their fingers together. “I’m with you. That already makes it great.”

Kris can feel himself blush. Marc smiles and leans up to kiss his burning cheek. “Just one thing,” he whispers against the warm skin there.

“Yeah?” Kris chokes out.

“Please, move,” Marc gasps, breath ghosting over Kris’s skin.

Kris nods. “I can do that.”

Marc grins and reaches up to pat the same cheek he’d just kissed. “Good boy.”

They’re hopeless, really.

Kris pulls out, pushes back in, and Marc breathes an encouraging sigh, moving his hips to meet Kris. Kris doesn’t stop this time. He keeps his motion slow, until Marc reminds him again that he won’t break. He builds up a steady rhythm that reduces Marc to an absolute mess beneath him, unable to form words, but being very responsive, and yeah, Kris is way into that. Marc reaches up to pull Kris down into a kiss that is all kinds of hot and wet, and then he has Kris whimpering, the clever fucker. They move together in perfect, eurhythmic bliss, and it is more than amazing. It’s just perfect, like they were meant to do this together, like they are each other’s harmonies. Marc breaks the kiss to tilt his head up and moan, not at all quietly. Kris shudders, can feel himself approaching the edge, with Marc. He ducks his head to bite softly at the tendons in Marc’s neck, and Marc tangles a hand in his hair, finally chokes out a few four letter words, one of which Kris recognizes as his own name. He can’t suppress a smile at that, and maybe it’s silly, but he’s elated because he has Marc so completely right now. Marc gasps his name again, and Kris moans in response. They lose their rhythm at about the same time, and Kris has just enough brain capacity left to get a hand on Marc’s dick, stroking erratically. Marc comes, crying out Kris’s name, and that sends Kris over the edge about a half second later. And besides euphoric, Kris feels . . . complete. And then the moment’s over, but he can’t shake the feeling that this is bigger than he could have guessed. Marc is laying boneless beneath him, and through the haze of afterglow, Kris feels a pressure in one of his extremities. It takes him a second to figure out that it’s Marc, still holding his hand so tight. A warmth spreads through Kris’s chest that overwhelms him for only a second. But he’s with Marc, and it’s always been easy with him. They have their moments, but he and Marc have been to Hell and back together, and Kris is willing to go to the ends of the universe with Marc at his side. He doesn’t realize he’s smiling until Marc shoves half-heartedly at his shoulder.

“You look stupid,” but he’s grinning just as dopily, so Kris knows he can’t mean it.

Kris leans down to kiss him. “You too,” he retorts weakly. “But you always look stupid.”

Marc laughs and clings loosely to Kris, as if not wanting to let him go. The moment just feels so perfect. They’re best friends, and Kris . . . Kris loves this idiot. As much as he’d love to stay like this with Marc forever, he knows they have to move eventually, so he carefully pulls out and moves to lay beside Marc, their hands still clasped together between them.

“Marc, man, you good?”

Marc takes a half-hearted swing at Kris’s head, missing by a mile. “If you ever ask me that again . . .” He doesn’t finish the threat.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” Kris grins.

Marc growls and moves. Before Kris can even register the movement, Marc has him pinned to the bed, straddling his stomach and holding his wrists above his head.

“That was the best thirty seconds of my life,” he says, gaze intense on Kris.

Kris laughs, and Marc cuts him off by sticking his tongue in Kris’s mouth. When he lets up, Kris grins. “I think I lasted longer than you did.”

“Not fair. It was our first time, and it had been building since yesterday.”

“Fine,” Kris consents. “We’ll compare with next time.”

Marc grins at him, something like wonder gracing his features, and Kris can feel it too, because now it’s out there. They’re going to do this again. Marc kisses him with so much intensity, Kris feels like his heart’s about to burst with it. Eventually, Marc pulls him up and into the bathroom. They shower together, cleaning each other up with slow hands and kissing lazily because they are both wore the fuck out. When the hot water starts to go, they get out, dry off with the same towel, and stumble back into the bedroom. They slip under the covers and fit together like puzzle pieces, made to fit each other. They trade a few half-formed phrases, both too scared to say what they’re thinking; I love you, fucker. And soon, they fall asleep tangled in each other.

The next day’s a travel day, which would usually suck, but they’re practically joined at the hip all day, flashing shy smiles and sharing tiny kisses when no one’s looking. Their three game road trip ends in a sweep, and it’s great. When they get back, they take a day to rest, Kris spending a lazy evening at Marc’s, watching HGTV. That night, when they’re curled up in each other’s arms, Kris asks, “Hey, tomorrow after practice, would you maybe wanna go to that little diner outside of town?”

“Hm?” Marc’s obviously more than halfway asleep. He blinks his eyes open, shining in the darkness. Kris’s voice may tremble just a little as he repeats his question.

“Of course,” Marc murmurs. “It’s a date.”

The next day, after practice, Kris drives them out of town to the little diner. Marc is completely relaxed, dialing through the radio and sitting back, watching out the window when he finds a rare song he wants to listen to. Kris is a nervous wreck. He grips the steering wheel with white knuckles, eyes trained carefully on the road. The same little old lady is there and greets them just as excitedly as last time. Kris makes his way to the same booth, and Marc follows, slipping into the seat beside Kris again, grinning and nudging Kris’s shoulder like he thinks he’s done something clever, the big goofball. Kris’s fingers close over the fabric in his pocket.

“I got you something,” he says, pulling it out. His hands may be shaking just a little as he hands it to Marc. Marc takes it in his enormous hands, and for a second, that’s all Kris can focus on, the way Marc’s long nimble fingers unfold it and flip it over to reveal the custom-stitched ‘K’ on the back of the toque.

“Holy shit, Kris,” Marc gasps.

“Do you like it?” Kris asks, still uncertain, the poor clueless kid.

“Kris, I . . . ,” Marc can’t even formulate words. “I love it.”

He grabs Kris and kisses him, and Kris can’t even care that they’re in public. Marc’s grinning when he pulls back and fits the toque over his head. “How’s it look?”

“You’re beautiful,” Kris says truthfully, and Marc laughs.

After they leave the diner, Kris drives them back to town, and drives aimlessly down a few roads before stopping at a coffee shop. He buys them both a cup and then drives them to the park, same as last time. They sit on the same secluded bench. The tree they’re sitting under hides them pretty well from the rest of the park, and the other people there are just a buzz in the background.

“Um, Marc?” Kris asks nervously.

“Yeah?”

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Uh-oh,” Marc says, but he’s grinning. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

Kris huffs a nervous laugh. “I wish that were all.”

“What’s more serious than that?”

“Well . . . ,” Kris’s tongue is sticking in his throat. 

“God, Kris are you breaking up with me?”

Kris’s head snaps up. “What? No! Why would you think that?”

“You just looks like what you have to say is bad news or something.”

Kris hesitates. “I’m just nervous,” he admits. “But I’m not breaking up with you. Kinda the opposite actually.”

“Are you proposing to me?” Marc’s grin is back.

Kris blushes deeply. “Maybe one day,” he says quietly.

“Oh,” Marc says, and then Kris is panicking.

“I mean . . .” This is all terrible. “Can I start over?”

Marc cocks his head, but nods.

“I . . .” Spit it out, Kris. “Marc, I love you.” He snaps his eyes shut, bracing for a bad reaction. The silence takes about three seconds to make him open his eyes and look at Marc. Marc is staring at him, his mouth dropped open in surprise. Kris’s face burns with a blush.

“Kris, I . . . ,” Marc starts, and Kris holds his breath. “You said it first.”

What.

“What?” Kris asks. It’s ridiculous, and he can feel a laugh bubbling in his chest.

“Everything we’ve done, I’ve initiated, but . . . but you said it first.”

Kris considers a moment. “Everything we’ve done has been sexual, and you’re a horndog.”

“That makes you the lovey dovey one,” Marc teases.

“Ugh,” Kris wrinkles his nose, and Marc laughs. And then Kris realizes something that makes him feel antsy all over. “Marc, you haven’t said --”

“I love you, too, Kris,” Marc says, and Kris could cry he’s so happy, but he’s already taken too many hits to his masculinity today. “Dumbass, I’ve loved you since . . . Fuck, I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t stupid in love with you.”

They both freeze for a moment because ‘I love you’ and ‘I’m in love with you’ are two different things, but Kris clarifies, “Relax, Marc, I mean I’m in love with you, too.”

And they share a moment where everything just sort of clicks into place. It’s insane, but they love each other, and they’re going to be together, and it’s going to be awesome.

“Can I . . . ?” Marc ducks his head like he’s the nervous wreck, and when he meets Kris’s eyes, his are so full of love and adoration that it makes Kris’s breath catch. “Can I kiss you now?”

Kris smiles softly. “You don’t have to ask, fucker.”

So Marc leans in, cupping Kris’s face in his hands and kisses Kris so tenderly that Kris feels like he’s going to melt beneath him. And it’s perfect. They sit together and grin stupidly at each other while they finish their coffees. When the sun just begins to sink, they get up and leave, dumping their empty cups on the way out. Kris drives back to Marc’s building with one hand in Marc’s lap, driving the tendy absolutely crazy. Once there, Marc pulls him inside and into the elevator. There, he pushes Kris up against the wall and kisses him, rough and claiming. Then it’s to Marc’s apartment, kissing frantically, and shedding clothes before the door is even closed. By the time Marc pushes Kris onto his bed, they’re both naked except for their matching toques, ‘M’ and ‘K’ slightly askew now. Marc moves up to lay beside him, and they face each other, getting their legs thoroughly tangled and taking each other’s dicks in hand. They jerk each other off slow, kissing as if they are the only things keeping each other alive. They come at the same time, foreheads pressed together as they spill on each other’s stomachs. While they catch their breath, they run hands over each other’s overheated skin because they can, and they want to map and claim every inch of each other. Eventually, they get up and clean up before settling back into bed and tangling up together again.

“I really love my toque,” Marc says, adjusting it on his head.

Kris smiles. “I thought it’d be nice to get you one since I’m always stealing yours.”

Marc laughs. “Be nice to have one to keep.” He reaches up to tap the ‘K’. “This stands for mine. If anyone asks, that’s exactly what I’m going to tell them.”

“So this is how we stake claims on each other, eh?” Kris smirks, looking back up at Marc.

Marc shrugs. “It makes sense, since it all started with toques anyway.”

Kris grins. “I love you, Marc.”

“I love you, too, Kris.”

**Author's Note:**

> Again, this is my first work posted. Sorry if it's bad.


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